;-NRLF 


B    M    1D3    D13 


GIFT   OF 
/9  o- 


FULFILLMENT 


A  CALIFORNIA  NOVEL 


By 
EMMA  WOLF 

Author  of  "Other  Things  Being  Equal," 

"The  Joy  of  Life,"  "A  Prodigal  in  Love,1 

"  Heirs  of  Yesterday,"  etc. 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 
1916 


COPYRIGHT,  1916, 

BY 
HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 


Published  March,  1916 


THE    QUINN    4    BODEN    CO.    PRESS 
RAH  WAY,  N.  J. 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  I 
THE  MAIDEN 


CHAPTER 

PAGE 

I 

THE  TRANSIT  OF  VENUS  

3 

II 

IN  THE  PRIDE  OF  HER  YOUTH  AND  BEAUTY 

.       23 

III 

HER  SOUL'S  ADVENTURE  

•       47 

IV 

FINIS      

.       63 

V 

THE  CROSS  ROADS     

•       64 

VI 

DERELICT        .       .       .       .       . 

.       82 

VII 

THE  KNIGHT       ....... 

•       93 

VIII 

THE  EASIEST  WAY    

.     no 

IX 

THE  SNARL  

.     128 

X 

THE  JUDGMENT  OF  SOLOMON  .... 

.     140 

XI 

TEKEL!          ........ 

.     162 

BOOK  II 

THE  MOTHER 

I 

A  FRAGMENT       

-     175 

II 

THE  ELEVENTH  HOUR      

264 

BOOK  III 

THE  WOMAN 

I 

"WATCHMAN,  WHAT  OF  THE  NIGHT?"     . 

.     279 

II 

STRESS      

.     288 

III 

ABOVE  LIFE'S  TRAFFIC      .       .       .       .       . 

?O3 

IV 

LETTERS         . 

.    316 

V 

DEBORAH'S   STORY       ...... 

•     330 

VI 

STRATEGICAL         

.     336 

VII 

MARY  BATES'S  SON    .       .       .       ., 

.     348 

VIII 

A  SONG  OF  SONGS      

.     375 

340607 


BOOK  I 
THE  MAIDEN 


'My  face  is  my  fortune,  sir,'  she  said." 

Old  Song 


CHAPTER  I 
THE  TRANSIT  OF  VENUS 

GWEN  HEATH  and  Laurence  Martin — met  by 
chance — sauntering  out  of  the  soft  obscurity  of 
a  Post  Street  Art  Gallery  where  they  had  been 
tilting  their  wit  at  the  Cubist  mysteries  on  ex 
hibition  there,  came  into  the  definite  glitter  and 
glare,  the  battle  and  rattle  of  the  street  crisp  with 
spring,  potential  with  adventure,  she  still  tingling 
with  enjoyment  over  both  her  own  and  his  witti 
cisms,  he  openly  drinking  in  the  radiance  of  her 
vibrant,  glowing  youth. 

The  insistent,  near  note  of  an  automobile  horn 
drew  their  attention.  From  a  waiting  car  a  girl 
leaned  out  holding  the  door  wide  and  smiling 
directly  toward  Gwen. 

"  Nothing  vague  about  that,"  Gwen  laughed, 
drawing  a  step  from  him.  "  The  Life  motif — a 
raucous  motor  horn — calls !  I  follow." 

With  a  bright  smile  and  a  nod  to  Martin,  she 

3 


4  FULFILLMENT 

moved,  a  slender,  black-clad  figure,  to  the 
curb. 

"  Won't  you  get  in?  Are  you  going  home?  " 
asked  Elizabeth  Lathrop  eagerly,  and  another 
voice  from  the  tonneau  echoed  equally  eagerly, 
"Oh,  do!" 

"  Well,"  Gwen  considered,  successfully  swal 
lowing  her  surprise  and  amusement,  her  hand 
touching  the  door  tentatively.  "  Yes,  I'm  going 
home,  but  I  had  intended  walking.  You  know  I 
love  nothing  as  I  love  to  hike." 

A  strained  smile  of  acknowledgment  drew 
Miss  Lathrop's  features.  "  I've  seen  you  on  the 
Ingleside  Links,"  she  agreed  sweetly  from  the 
tip  of  her  smile,  "  but  there's  no  match  on  now, 
and  we  have  something  so  thrilling  to  tell  you. 
Haven't  we,  Sally?" 

"  Rather,"  said  Sally  Lane,  reflecting  the 
gleam  in  her  companion's  eyes. 

Gwen,  on  the  curb,  measured  the  smiling  an 
tagonism  in  the  automobile,  and  rose  gallantly 
to  the  fray.  "Really?"  she  laughed,  and 
stepped  gayly  in.  "  Let  me  sit  here."  She  swung 
round  one  of  the  smaller  seats  and  sat  down  fac- 


THE  TRANSIT  OF  VENUS  5 

ing  the  other  two,  feeling,  with  a  mental  grin, 
that  she  was  facing  a  jury  not  of  her  peers. 

The  car  swung  off  with  a  whir.  "  Guilty  or 
not  ?  "  Gwen  wanted  to  challenge,  but  only  ex 
claimed  with  lively  interest,  "  And  now  for  the 
thrill." 

Not  Gwen  Heath,  but  her  exquisite,  disturb 
ing  beauty  interrogated  Elizabeth  Lathrop  with  its 
maddening  coolness,  not  the  girl,  the  interloper 
from  an  outside  sphere,  but  the  proud  little  ivory 
oval  of  the  face  opposite,  looking  out  so  lightly 
from  the  glinting  shadows  of  the  chestnut-gold 
hair  framing  it, — this,  with  its  indubitable  lure, 
cocked  the  pistol.  "  Guess  who's  engaged,"  she 
cried. 

Then  Gwen  knew.  "  Oh,  an  engagement !  " 
she  dallied.  "You— yours?  Miss  Lane's?"  She 
glanced  from  one  to  the  other,  ignoring  the  pistol 
pointing  from  their  eyes. 

"  Nothing  so  commonplace,"  Miss  Lathrop 
tantalized,  "  we  are  only  the — the " 

"  Erynnes,"  thought  Gwen,  clairvoyant. 

"  Reporters,"  quoth  Elizabeth  more  vernacu 
larly, — and  touched  the  trigger.  "  We've  just 


6  FULFILLMENT 

come  from  Mrs.  Wells, — a  little  telephone-tea,  you 
know,  at  which  she  announced  her  son's  engage 
ment  to  Lucy  Hammond.  Awfully  surprised  you 
weren't  there." 

The  shot  struck,  leaving  a  rosy  trail  on  the 
surface  of  the  face  of  the  target.  "  I  scarcely 
know  Mrs.  Wells,"  she  explained  with  quick 
ened  breath  and  a  swift  smile,  "  it's  only  her  son 
and  I  who  are  friends.  But  it  is  surpris 
ing!"  She  met  her  opponent's  searching  eyes 
frankly. 

"  Isn't  it?  Everybody's  surprised — as  you  are. 
Yet  why  should  one  be  ?  " 

"  Why  indeed ! "  echoed  Gwen,  accepting  the 
cue. 

"  Simply  because  he's  never  been  attentive  to 
her,"  suggested  Sally  Lane  flatly.  "  And  that's 
why " 

"  His  mother  has  been,"  completed  Elizabeth 
with  a  laugh.  "  The  Hammond  estate  was  al 
ways  there  at  Burlingame  adjoining  the  Wells's, 
you  know,  and — they  naturally  met,  in  every  par 
ticular." 

"  Greek  and  Greek,"  flashed  Gwen,  not  to  be 


THE  TRANSIT  OF  VENUS  7 

stayed.  "  When  wealth  meets  wealth — such 
wealth — then  comes  the  nuptial  knot.  It  is  ab 
solutely  logical — from  the  premises." 

"  Socially  logical,"  snapped  Elizabeth,  brutally 
snipping  at  Gwen's  nonchalance.  "  Anything  dif 
ferent  would  be — fiction." 

"  And  out-of-date  fiction  at  that,"  mused  Gwen. 
"  It  would  be  absolute  romance,  wouldn't  it  ?  " 
she  ran  on,  heedless  of  her  hearers,  as  was  her 
wont  when  once  started.  "  What  an  anachro 
nism  in  this  mechanistic  age !  Realism  laughs  at 
the  absurdity.  You  surely  have  a  '  story/  jour 
nalistically  speaking,  Miss  Lathrop, — it's  almost 
yellow,  interesting  alike  in  either  the  Society  or 
Trade  and  Commerce  columns.  Lansing  Wells 
is  a  fine  fellow — everybody  likes  him,  in  spite 
of  his  money, — I  know  I  do," — she  was  smiling 
now  very  winsomely  into  the  other's  addled 
sweetness, — "  and  I  hope  he  and  Miss  Hammond 
will  be  very,  very  happy.  Thanks  for  the  ride 
and  the  thrill — they  were  both  unexpected.  And 
— may  I  continue  my  walk  ?  "  She  and  Eliza 
beth  Lathrop  were  mere  acquaintances — why  con 
tinue  the  durance  vile  ? 


8  FULFILLMENT 

"  Reading  something  good  ?  "  put  in  Sally  Lane 
suavely,  attempting  to  divert  the  threatening 
waters. 

"  Just  Wells,"  laughed  Gwen,  hugging  her 
books  tighter  under  her  arm.  "  Isn't  that  a  funny 
coincidence?  Well,  Wells  is  modern  enough  and 
good  enough  for  me  any  day."  Her  perfect  poise 
as  she  stood  up,  ready  for  flight,  her  hand  on  the 
door,  confused  the  foe. 

"  Oh,  for  anybody,"  declared  Sally  Lane  pre 
cipitately.  "  I'm  so  surprised,  Miss  Heath,  that 
you  haven't  joined  any  of  the  lecture  classes  we've 
been  forming.  Being  so  high " 

"  Don't  say  high-brow,  please,"  begged  Gwen, 
making  a  wry  face.  "  The  compliment  is  so  in 
sulting  to  one's  sense  of  humor.  Which  reminds 
me  of  a  woman,  the  author  of  an  insignificant 
novel,  who  sat  glowering  during  a  discussion  on 
the  insanity  of  genius  and,  at  its  close,  rose 
haughtily  from  her  place  and,  with  a  tart '  Thank 
you ! '  swept  indignantly  from  the  room. — No,  I 
haven't  joined  any  of  the  classes  simply  because 
I  hate  being  read  to,  or  lectured  to.  Thanks 
again,  Miss  Lathrop, — my  congratulations  to  you 


THE  TRANSIT  OF  VENUS  9 

both  on  the  success  of  the  thrill, — and  good-by. 
Will  you  tell  the  chauffeur? " 

She  stepped  to  the  curb  again,  waved  a  bright 
good-by,  and  moved  on  in  girlish  fleetness  as  the 
car  shot  ahead.  The  two  in  the  tonneau  measured 
her  as  they  sped  past. 

"  She's  wonderful  in  mourning,"  ventured 
Sally  Lane,  noting  her  friend  out  of  the  corner 
of  a  dancing  eye. 

"  Mourning !  And  those  smiles  ?  Her  hilarity 
is  in  astoundingly  bad  taste,  considering  her  fa 
ther's  not  dead  two  months." 

"  Hilarity  ?  She  was  only  acting — opposite 
you.  What  did  you  expect  ?  Stung,  my  dear !  " 

"  Exactly,"  declared  Elizabeth  Lathrop,  with 
lifted  chin. 

"  Who  ?  "  wondered  Sally  Lane  in  astonish 
ment. 

"  Why,  Gwen  Heath,  of  course,"  snapped 
Elizabeth  crossly. 

"H-m-m "  hesitated  Sally  Lane. 

"  Huh!  "  breathed  Elizabeth  Lathrop. 

"  Squelched,"  laughed  Sally  Lane. 

"  Who?  "  flashed  Elizabeth  Lathrop. 


io  FULFILLMENT 

"  Me'n  you,"  whispered  Sally  slyly. 

"  Oh,  shut  up !  "  finished  Elizabeth  flatly. 

"  I  will,"  agreed  her  confidante. 

"  That  ends  her  glory/'  triumphed  Elizabeth, 
in  epilogue. 

"The  transit  of  Venus,"  chortled  Sally  in 
amen,  and  the  car  sped  on. 

So  did  Gwen,  dumped  down,  according  to  their 
conclusions,  on  her  broken  potsherds,  on  the 
debris  of  her  Dream  of  Empire. 

Vulgar ! 

The  thought  lashed.  Those  girls  in  their  auto 
mobile  had  as  much  as  branded  her — her,  Gwen 
Heath!  She,  who  prided  herself  on — what? 
Everything.  Her  young,  intolerant  spirit 
stamped  on  the  implication. 

Those — cats ! 

And  yet,  up  from  the  depths  of  her  turmoil, 
gushed  a  laugh,  comforting,  comfortable,  a  laugh 
to  hug  in  her  heart.  She  didn't  care !  She  could 
laugh  at  the  elaborate  business  of  their  "  news." 
The  prick  of  it  had  left  only  the  ghost  of  a 
scratch.  Healthily,  joyously,  she  knew  that, 
knew  the  scratch  was  only  to  her  vanity  and  that 


THE  TRANSIT  OF  VENUS  11 

it  would  heal  as  soon  as  she  would  let  it  alone. 
And  that  she  would  let  it  alone  presently,  she 
knew  too,  because  she  had  realized  for  several 
days  that  she  had  come  to  her  cross-ways  and 
was  about  to  turn  her  back  on  "  all  that," — mean 
ing  what  those  girls,  and  their  automobile,  and 
their  "  news,"  represented.  They  had  never  been 
a  part  of  her  real  life,  they  were  only  an  inter 
polation.  But  now,  walking  homeward  to  Deb 
orah  with  the  little  flesh  prick  upon  her,  she 
could  not  let  it  alone. 

In  the  swift  X-ray  of  her  supposed  debacle, 
she  saw  the  whole  "  history  "  of  her  case,  and 
diagnosed  it  "  vulgarity," — which  self-judgment 
was  typical  of  Gwen,  hot,  swift,  and  absolutely 
unprejudiced.  Had  she  been  pressed,  then  and 
there,  on  her  way  home  to  Deborah,  to  state  the 
facts  in  that  history,  she  would  have  launched 
forth  somewhat  in  this  wise,  hot,  swift,  and  ab 
solutely  just — according  to  her  temperament : 

"  The  truth  of  the  matter  is  this : — We  are 
neither  poor  people  nor  rich,  we're  the  kind  of 
people  to  whom  a  phrase  of  Wagner  or  a  phrase  of 
Browning  is  a  feast,  the  kind  of  people  who  have 


12  FULFILLMENT 

aspirations.  At  least  they  were  aspirations  up  to 
a  certain  day  and  hour  when  they  slipped  down 
and  became  mere  ambitions.  Now,  aspirations 
have  to  do  with  heights,  and  we,  my  sister  Debo 
rah  and  I,  have  lived  all  our  lives,  not  only  on  a 
height,  but  with  a  height, — we  are  the  daughters 
of  Horace  Bradford  Heath,  distinguished  Greek 
scholar  and  late  Professor  Emeritus  of  Greek  of 
the  University  of  California,  who  never  had  an 
ambition  in  his  life — save  to  live  freely.  So  free 
was  he  of  taking  thought  of  the  morrow,  or  even 
of  today,  that,  if  my  sister  Deborah  had  not 
been  peculiarly  ballasted — through  the  untoward 
circumstance  of  becoming  both  my  mother — and 
his — at  the  pathetic  age  of  twelve,  owing  to  the 
death  of  my  own  mother  at  my  birth, — we  might 
have  come  a  cropper  through  his  spiritual  aero 
nautics.  But,  as  it  was,  she  kept  our  bodies,  at 
least,  to  the  levels  of  reality.  But  throughout 
my  child  life  and  college  life — of  course  I  went 
to  college — I  subsisted  on  aspirations.  What 
sort?  Why,  the  sort  aimless  young  girls  have 
who  believe  in  ideals,  in  the  perfectibility  of  hu 
manity  :  one  has  only  to  frown  on  vice  and  it  will 


THE  TRANSIT  OF  VENUS  13 

become  virtue,  one  has  only  to  put  out  a  helping 
hand  and  weakness  will  become  strength,  one  has 
only  to  seek  beauty  and  one  will  find  it.  And,  of 
course,  out  of  it  all,  some  day,  vaguely,  inevitably, 
would  rise  the  one  and  only,  the  knight  without 
reproach, — none  other  would  do, — through  whom 
the  veiled,  but  glorious,  meaning  of  life  would 
become  manifest.  (And  now,  this  very  day,  old 
as  I  am — I  am  nearly  twenty- four — I  know,  be 
yond  all  doubting,  that  that  last  clause  of  that 
under-graduate  credo  will  justify  my  faith!) 
Most  of  which — not  that  last  clause,  however, — 
but  perhaps  that,  too! — was  born  of  the  atmos 
phere  in  which  I  have  always  lived  and  had  my 
being. 

"  All  this  until,  last  year,  came  the  day  and 
hour  when  we — ah,  Deborah ! — became  ambitious, 
that  day  when  Mabel  Goddard,  just  back  from  a 
two-years'  trip  around  the  world,  saw  me  at  a  con 
cert,  '  Sitting  there,'  as  she  excitedly  put  it,  in  my 
*  incredible  hair,'  and  claimed  me  as  Lady  Godiva 
for  some  tableaux  vivants  to  be  given  for  charity. 
So  it  was  Mabel,  my  girlhood's  chum, — who  had 
married  oil-lands  three  years  before, — who  in- 


i4  FULFILLMENT 

troduced  me,  in  the  Fairmont  ballroom,  into  the 
ken  of  the  very  rich.  And  we  became  ambitious. 
For,  ever  since,  they — I  mean  some  of  the  men — 
with  Lansing  Wells  in  the  lead  with  his  mad  at 
tentions, — have  raged  about  me.  Principalities 
and  Powers,  in  my  intemperate  dream  of  con 
quest,  took  the  form  of  Limousines  and  Country 
Houses,  to  say  nothing  of  Town  Mansions  and 
unlimited  travel  and  all  the  etceteras  de  luxe. 
And  there  was  nothing  to  break  the  delirium — 
not  even  my  sister  Deb.  You  see,  she  believes  in 
me — I  mean  in  the  power  of  my  beauty,  which  is 
all  there  is  to  me  to  believe  in,  and  I  am  neither 
so  blind  nor  so  deaf  not  to  know  it  exists.  But 
had  Deb 

"  But  there !  You  see  me  as  those  girls  see 
me,  an  adventuress,  foiled  in  her  designs  by  the 
more  powerful  machinations  of  a  plutocratic 
mother. 

"  You  agree  with  me ?    Vulgar?     Certainly." 

Thus  Gwen,  homeward  bound  to  Deb. 

And  meanwhile  the  laugh  in  her  heart  gushed 
on.  She  didn't  care!  Oh,  she  didn't  care !  What 
was  Lansing  Wells  to  her — what  could  he  be  to 


THE  TRANSIT  OF  VENUS  15 

her  after  he,  Austin  Dane,  had  come?  Austin 
Dane — Austin  Dane!  His  name  was  enough  to 
overwhelm  every  other.  >  All  the  world  knew 
his  name,  but  to  her,  as  to  no  one  else,  was  given 
the  knowledge  of  the  man  behind  the  renowned 
playwright. 

"  Austin — Gwen,"  so  he  had  strung  them  to 
gether  only  last  night,  holding  them  up  to  her, 
thus  joined,  for  approval.  And  she,  laughing 
unsteadily  over  his  obvious  meaning,  had  told 
him  how,  as  a  little  girl  of  ten,  she  had  stormed 
against  her  fanciful  name,  Gwendolen,  because 
"  all  the  girls  made  fun  of  it,"  and  Deb,  reluc 
tantly,  had  consented  to  the  diminutive.  She  did 
not  tell  him  that  Deb's  repeated  argument  against 
her  childish  rage  and  weeping  had  been  that  she 
had  been  so  named  after  her  paternal  grand 
mother,  who,  "  Father  says,  was  as  beautiful  as 
the  dawn,  and  whom  you  resemble  in  every  par 
ticular."  But  she  had  remembered  it — phrasings 
always  left  their  traceries  in  Gwen's  aesthetic 
make-up.  "  So  I  became  Gwen,  and  Gwen  I  in 
tend  to  remain  to  the  end  of  the  chapter — Gwen 
for  short,"  she  had  summed  up  with  a  faint  dis- 


16  FULFILLMENT 

play  of  the  tenacity  which  often  capriciously 
assailed  her. 

"  Gwen  for  love,"  he  had  instantly  murmured, 
and  had  abruptly  taken  his  departure,  leaving 
the  afterglow  to  daze  her. 

It  dazed  her  still,  walking  out  Sutter  Street  in 
the  waning  afternoon,  the  little  winds  exhilarat 
ing  even  her  fleetness,  whipping  up  the  dance  in 
her  blood,  and  completely  blotting  out  her  sur 
roundings. 

But  just  ahead,  moving  very  slowly  toward 
her,  she  beheld  a  small  girl,  reading  as  she  ad 
vanced,  her  head  hidden  in  her  book.  Gwen's 
eye,  attracted  by  the  pose,  sought  the  cover  of  the 
upheld  book,  recognized  with  a  leap  of  delight 
the  familiar  green  cloth  with  the  red-and-gold 
clover-leaf  in  the  corner,  saw  the  little  tear- 
stained  face  bent  over  the  page,  and  she  made 
straight  for  the  absorbed  little  reader. 

"  Oh/'  cried  the  startled  child,  backing  away 
and  swallowing  a  trickling  tear  as  she  looked  up 
in  wonderment  at  the  girl  who  had  almost  run 
over  her.  "I " 

"  Don't  tell  me,"  cried  Gwen  with  a  gulp  in 


THE  TRANSIT  OF  VENUS  17 

her  voice,  her  own  eyes  swimming,  "  don't  tell 
me!  I  knew  it  long  ago.  Beth's  dying!  "  And 
she  went  on,  chuckling  joyously  to  herself  over 
Louisa  Alcott,  over  the  amazed  expression  on  the 
face  of  the  child  into  whose  abstraction  she  had 
so  irresistibly  bumped,  and  who  stood  gazing 
after  the  "  beautiful,  funny  lady "  in  wistful 
excitement.  Perhaps  she  was  Jo  herself! 

But  Gwen  was  almost  run  down  in  turn  by  a 
well-known,  flying  figure  as  she  turned  the  next 
corner. 

"  Why,  Jean!  "  she  exclaimed  gladly. 

"  Haven't  a  second,  Gwen, — a  lesson  at  five," 
nodded  Jean  Wickham,  backing  reluctantly  away 
from  her. 

"  I  won't  keep  you,  dear, — I'm  coming  for  the 
kiddies  some  morning  this  week,"  and  they  sepa 
rated,  Gwen  continuing  on  her  way,  the  memory 
of  a  childhood's  literary  worship  banished  by  the 
realistic  encounter  with  Jean  Wickham — that 
mother ! — widowed,  left  penniless — after  affluence 
— at  twenty-five,  with  two  small  children  to  feed, 
and  clothe,  and  house,  going  joyously,  gratefully, 
trudging  and  drudging  from  music  lesson  to  music 


i8  FULFILLMENT 

lesson,  in  the  pride  of  her  strength  and  love. 

"  Oh,  brave,  brave,  brave !  "  thrilled  Gwen, 
walking  on  with  a  glow  at  her  heart  over  the  girl 
she  knew  and  held  so  high. 

After  crossing  Van  Ness  Avenue  through  the 
whirl  and  whir  of  flashing  motor-cars  and  trucks, 
she  paused  a  moment  in  answer  to  a  greeting 
from  a  pretty,  charmingly  dressed  woman  de 
scending  the  steps  of  a  fashionable  modiste's 
establishment.  At  the  curb  waited  her  exquisite 
electric  brougham. 

"  I'm  so  disgusted/'  she  began  at  once,  fret 
fully,  as  Gwen  met  her  at  the  foot  of  the  steps, 
"  I  really  don't  know  what  I'm  going  to  do  about 
it.  I've  been  depending  on  that  gown  for  the 
Forsythe  wedding,  and  today  Madam  tells  me 
she  has  to  cable  to  Paris  for  another  half-yard  of 
the  material !  The  wedding  is  only  nine  days  off 
now,  and  of  course  it  won't  be  here  for  two 
weeks !  You  can  imagine  how  I  feel  about  it." 

"  How  perfectly  horrid,"  sympathized  Gwen, 
keeping  the  dance  of  amusement  out  of  her  eyes. 
"  But  you  have  so  many  dresses — what  about 
that  gorgeous  gold  thing  you  had  on " 


THE  TRANSIT  OF  VENUS  19 

"  That !  My  dear,  that's  <worn  to  a  rag  long 
ago.  You  know  what  dancing  does  to  skirts 
these  days.  It  just  makes  me  sick,  and  Madam's 
as  cool  as  a  cucumber  about  it.  Can't  I  take  you 
home?" 

Gwen,  moving  away,  shook  her  head  in  re 
fusal.  "  Thanks,  I'll  be  there  in  a  minute.  I'm 
so  sorry  for  you,  Mrs.  Farwell." 

"  I'm  at  my  wits'  end  about  it,"  bewailed  the 
other,  sweeping  on  to  her  jewel-box. 

Over  Gwen  swept  the  irony  of  it  all, — Jean 
Wickham,  Laura  Farwell, — life's  disharmonies. 
And  a  tide  of  shamed  color  flooded  into  her  face 
at  the  echo  of  certain  persistent  rumors  regard 
ing  the  same  dainty  bit  of  femininity  she  had 
just  parted  from,  rumors  in  which  the  name  of 
Larry  Martin  and  the  ugly  word  "  divorce  "  held 
clamorous  prominence.  The  girl,  frowning, 
thrust  the  distasteful  thought  from  her,  and  the 
next  minute  was  exulting  in  a  sudden  overwhelm 
ing  enjoyment  of  the  maze  of  things. 

"  The  world  is  so  full  of  a  number  of  things, 
I'm  sure  we  should  all  be  as  happy  as  kings ! " 


20  .      FULFILLMENT 

"  Life's  a  banquet,  isn't  it,  R.  L.  S.  ? "  she 
apostrophized  as  if  to  a  mental  companion. 

And  just  then,  to  her  surprise,  she  found  she 
had  reached  "  The-peanut-on-a-height,"  her  own 
school-girl  sobriquet  for  the  loved,  rambling 
bungalow  perched  on  the  summit  of  a  steep,  high 
lawn,  the  only  home  she  had  ever  known.  "  The 
Heights,"  they  called  it  after  that,  for  many  secret 
reasons.  Even  now  its  ivy-framed,  leaded  win 
dows  seemed  to  stoop  to  her  in  greeting  as  she  went 
musingly  up  the  long  flight  of  worn  steps,  and  a 
wave  of  devotion  to  it  passed  over  her  as  if  out 
of  the  suddenly  recalled  new  look  she  had  sur 
prised  in  Deb's  quiet  face  several  weeks  before. 
It  had  remained  an  inscrutable  look  because  Deb 
so  willed  it,  but,  coming  as  it  had  a  few  days 
after  their  father's  gentle,  unheralded  passing 
out,  it  had  filled  her  with  a  haunting  sense  of 
attendant  loss,  of  irreparable  change,  of  a  sharp 
turn  into  a  strange  cross-roads. 

She  stood  on  the  top  step  and  turned  about 
with  misty  eyes  to  look  south  to  the  line  of  pur 
pling  hills,  under  the  wondrous  silvery-blue  San 
Francisco  sky, — Twin  Peaks  in  the  ascendant, — 


THE  TRANSIT  OF  VENUS  21 

sweeping  grandly  across  the  horizon  only  to  lose 
themselves  abruptly  in  the  dense  mystery  of  Sutro 
Forest.  How  often  had  she  stood  there  with  her 
father  in  the  evening  light  watching  the  pano 
rama  of  the  encircling  hills  as  they  turned  from 
glory  to  glory,  he  with  uplifted  silvery  head  as 
if  in  cathedral  worship, — how  close  they  had  been 
to  him  in  his  silences,  she  and  Deborah 

With  a  swift  swoop  down  to  the  present,  she 
shrugged  off  the  gray  cloak  of  sadness  and  turned 
to  the  old,  dark  oak  door,  the  open  sesame  and 
barring  sentinel  to  all  the  intimacies  of  her  young 
life,  and,  after  touching  the  bell-button,  began  a 
sprightly  tattoo  upon  the  panel. 

But  before  it  could  be  opened,  a  child's  shrill 
prattle  from  the  street  below  whirled  her  about, 
and,  dropping  her  books,  she  went  helter-skelter 
down  the  steps,  her  arms  outstretched. 

"  Nora,  Nora,  wait  a  minute,"  she  besought 
the  dragon-visaged  guardian  holding  the  child's 
hand  who  only  half -turned  at  her  call. 

"  We  haven't  a  minute " 

ff  Will  tiss  Gwennie!  "  declared  the  little  one, 
standing  stock-still  in  the  dragon's  hold,  and  she 


22  FULFILLMENT 

flung  herself  into  Gwen's  arms  as  the  girl  snatched 
her  up  and  hugged  her  to  her. 

"  I'm  a  robber  and  I  stole  a  kiss,"  she  whis 
pered  close.  "  Jeanie  mustn't  tell  Mother, — it's 
a  secret  'tween  you  and  me." 

And  she  put  her  down  as  suddenly  as  she  had 
seized  her,  waving  kisses,  as  Jeanie,  wrinkling 
her  little  nose  and  patting  her  tightly  closed  mouth 
with  a  comprehending  finger,  was  summarily 
pulled  on  by  Jean  Wickham's  grim,  but  trusted, 
servitor. 

"  Some  day  I'll  steal  her,"  Gwen  announced 
breathlessly,  mounting  the  steps  to  Deborah 
awaiting  her  at  the  top. 

"  Kidnapper !  "  denounced  Deb,  noting  her  ar 
dent  face  with  a  whimsical  smile.  "  I  belong  to 
the  Juvenile  Protective  Association  and  I'll  have 
you  arrested  as  dangerous.  Look  where  you've 
dropped  those  books !  " 

She  picked  them  up,  and  Gwen  followed  her 
into  the  house. 


CHAPTER  II 

IN  THE  PRIDE  OF  HER  YOUTH  AND 
BEAUTY 

"  MARTHA  out?  "  This  last  from  Gwen,  clos 
ing  the  front  door  behind  them. 

"  Uh-m-m,"  Deborah  assented  absently,  mov 
ing  toward  the  library,  scanning  a  title  page  as 
she  went. 

"  That  check  for  a  hundred-thousand  come  to 
day  from  my  Uncle  in  Brazil  ?  "  Gwen  called 
back  on  her  way  to  her  room. 

Deb's  faint  laugh  answered  her  and  Gwen 
laughed  to  herself  over  the  mythical  relative  she 
had  evolved  for  herself,  out  of  her  needs,  who 
some  day,  some  way,  was  going  to  make  them 
"  live  happy  ever  afterwards."  At  that  particu 
lar  moment  she  had  quizzically  decided  that  a 
windfall  of  money  was  all  that  was  wanting  to 
that  devoutly  desired  consummation. 

Divesting  herself  of  her  outdoor  things,  she 
23 


24  FULFILLMENT 

was  back  again  with  Deb,  who  was  still  stand 
ing  by  the  library  table,  lost  in  a  book.  Gwen, 
seating  herself  in  one  of  the  shabby  leather  arm 
chairs,  watched  her  intently. 

Large  she  was,  this  Deborah  Heath,  deep- 
bosomed,  poised  in  quietude.  Her  face  was  dark, 
but  when  the  lovely  mouth  smiled, — as  it  did 
presently  in  answer  to  an  impatient  sound  from 
the  spirited  figure  in  the  deep  chair,  and  showed 
the  pretty  arch  of  white  teeth,  it  was  like  a  flash 
of  light  in  a  dark  place. 

"  What  you  looking  at  ?  "  she  asked,  dropping 
into  the  chair  near  which  she  was  standing  and, 
after  another  amused  glance  at  the  girl,  return 
ing  to  her  book. 

"  Mayn't  the  cat  look  at  the  queen  ?  "  returned 
the  other,  bolt  upright  in  her  chair,  looking  re 
flectively  at  her. 

"  Only  don't  purr, — I'm  busy,"  vouchsafed  the 
queen,  settling  herself  comfortably  with  her  book 
held  high. 

"  Put  that  down,  Deb.  Want  to  know  some 
thing?" 

Deb  looked  up,  closed  her  book  over  a  retain- 


PRIDE  OF  YOUTH  AND  BEAUTY      25 

ing  finger,  and  sat  attentive.  She  knew  nothing 
better  in  life  than  just  to  sit  attentive  to  the 
compelling  charm  of  the  beloved  face  regarding 
her  now  with  a  kindling  in  the  long,  dark  gray 
eyes  set  deep  under  the  fine,  straight  brows,  noth 
ing  more  wonderful  to  look  at  than  the  proud 
little  head  weighted  by  the  mass  of  softly  knotted 
chestnut  hair. 

"  Shut  your  mouth,  and  open  your  eyes,  and 
I'll  give  you  something  to  make  you  wise." 

Deb  did  as  commanded. 

"  I'm  the  one  who  was  kidnapped." 

"  So?  "  Deb  was  used  to  her  melodramas,  her 
rags  and  tags  of  the  promiscuous  reading  in  which 
she  had  always  reveled,  and  she  awaited  the 
denouement  calmly.  "  Bandits  masked  or  other 
wise?" 

"  Masked." 

"How?" 

"  As  girls." 

"  And  you  think " 

"  No.     I  know." 

"Who?" 

"  The  Eumenides." 


26  FULFILLMENT 

"  Needs  elucidating." 
"  The  Furies — en  automobile" 
"  A  classic  anachronism !  " 
"  No,  only  classy.    Cats,  in  modernese."    The 
faint  color  surged  up  under  the  delicate  skin. 
Deb  felt  her  amused  attitude  change. 
"Who  was  it,  Gwen?" 
"  Elizabeth  Lathrop  and  Sally  Lane." 
"What  happened?" 

" '  They  told  me  you  had  been  to  her, 
And  mentioned  me  to  him: 
She  gave  me  a  good  character, 
But  said  I  could  not  swim. 
They  gave  me  one,  I  gave  them  two — ' ' 

"  Now  you're  improvising,"  interrupted  Deb, 
attempting  to  stem  the  rising  flood. 

"  They  said,  '  Your  face  ain't  your  fortune, 
ma'am,'  they  said." 

The  color  mounted  darkly  into  Deborah 
Heath's  face.  She  waited,  speechless,  however, 
knowing  that  Gwen  must  take  her  own  fantastic 


PRIDE  OF  YOUTH  AND  BEAUTY      27 

way  to  relate  even  an  insult,  as  this  threatened 
to  prove. 

"  They  said,  '  Anyway,  what  were  you  doing 
in  that  galley?'  " 

The  color  beat,  beat  furiously  under  Deborah's 
eyes,  eyes  that  seemed  to  veil  themselves  as  if  to 
conceal  something,  and  her  lips  pressed  close 
against  each  other. 

"  They  said,  '  Orchids  may  mean  orchards,  and 
attentions  may  mean  intentions,  and  sons  may  be 
meaning  to,  but  mothers  may  be  mean,  too, — and 
Wellses  is  Wellses,  and  Hammonds  Hammondses, 
but  Heaths,  dear,  Heaths  is  just  plain  heathen, 
and  that's  the  way  the  game  goes :  '  Eeny,  meeny, 
miney,  mo,  catch  a  nigger  by  the  toe, — ou-t 
spells  out.  You're  out,  Gwe.n  Heath ! ' 

She  stopped  her  breathless  gallop  to  gaze  with 
shining  eyes  and  mutinous  mouth  at  her  sister 
busily  seeking  to  thresh  the  kernel  from  all  this 
chaff. 

"  Three  guesses,"  she  offered,  holding  up  three 
fingers. 

"  You  mean  that  Lansing  Wells  is  engaged  to 
Miss  Hammond  ?  "  said  Deb  quietly. 


28  FULFILLMENT 

"  Correct.  Awfully  disappointed  ?  "  Her 
gray  eyes  delved  into  the  other's. 

Deb's  lips  parted,  showing  her  teeth  set.  "  Dis 
appointed  ?  "  she  repeated,  the  word  forcing  her 
teeth  apart.  "  I  ?  "  and  the  flame  burned  steadily 
under  her  eyes. 

"  You  are !  "  cried  Gwen  triumphantly.  "  Con 
fess — you  counted  on  my  carrying  off  the  prize. 
Oh,  Deborah  Heath,  Deborah  Heath,  and  you 
used  to  be  above  sordid  ambitions ! " 

The  flame  died  out  of  Deborah's  face;  slightly 
pale  now,  she  answered  her  darling.  "  We 
mothers,"  she  said  very  low,  the  arrestive  smile 
lighting  her  features,  "  we  mothers,  dearest,  are 
ambitious  for  our  daughters,  comprehending,  bet 
ter  than  they,  the  whole  of  life.  We  like  to  see 
them  well  settled." 

"Settled!  What  a  word — what  a  mid- Vic 
torian  speech!  Settled  to  what?  Spending 
money?  As  if  marrying  for  money  meant  set 
tling!" 

Deborah  ignored  the  modern  note.  "  My  dear, 
you  accepted  all  Lansing  Wells's  attentions, 
didn't  you?" 


PRIDE  OF  YOUTH  AND  BEAUTY     29 

Gwen  turned  reflective.  "  Not  all,"  she  mur 
mured  softly. 

"  All  I  know  of.  Why  shouldn't  I  infer  you 
cared  for  him — not  his  money  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  why,  but  you  should  have. 
You  knew  my  position  was  false  in  that  set, 
didn't  you?" 

"  Not  at  all.  I  thought  you  were  giving  more 
than  for  value  received." 

"  Shucks,  shucks !  You  dreamed  dreams,  Deb, 
and  they  went  out  with  sentimentality  and — and 
tidies  on  the  backs  of  horse-hair  chairs,  you 
know." 

Her  playful  insouciance  finally  caught  Debo 
rah's  attention.  "  Then,  Gwen,  you — you  are  not 
— disappointed,  as  you  call  it?"  she  ventured 
wistfully. 

"  Perhaps  you  have  noticed  that  the — orchids 
— stopped  coming  several  weeks  ago,"  Gwen  re 
minded  her  gently. 

'  Yes,  I  know.    Did  you  know — why?  " 

The  flush  spread  up  from  the  lovely  throat  to 
the  dainty  ear  almost  hidden  under  the  glinting 
hair.  ''  Yes,  I  know  why,"  she  answered  steadily. 


30  FULFILLMENT 

"  It  was  because — for  some  time — I  have  showed 
him — told  him — I  didn't  want  them." 

For  some  time!  Deb  did  some  rapid  arith 
metic  and  her  heart  sank  with  a  sickening  thud. 
"  In  that  case,"  she  said,  getting  up,  "  you  couldn't 
expect  them.  And  since  you  evidently  don't 
care " 

"Care!  I  don't  give  a  hoot!  And  what's 
more,  I'm  glad  he's  out  of  my  way."  She  sprang 
up  too.  "Where  are  you  going?" 

"  To  get  supper.    Martha's  out  and " 

"  No,  let  me."  She  pushed  her  sister  back  into 
her  chair,  laughing  as  Deborah  slid  from  the  arm 
into  the  seat.  "  Bumpity-bumpty — ay !  "  she 
sang.  "  What' s  for  supper  ?  You  know,  Deb, 
when  you  allowed  me  to  pursue  my  aimless  way 
at  college,  you  overlooked  my  one  and  only  talent : 
a  chef,  you  should  have  made  me,  and  my  children 
chefs  unto  the  third  and  fourth  glorification  of 
artistic  food.  What's  for  supper,  mum  ?  "  She 
stood  with  dainty  arms  akimbo  and  face  raised 
saucily.  "  Biscuit,  I  suppose  ?  I  could  give  you 
an  old  master  and  you  demand — Hallo!  Where 
did  those  come  from?"  She  ran  to  the  low 


PRIDE  OF  YOUTH  AND  BEAUTY      31 

bowl  on  the  table  in  the  window  crowded  and 
running  over  with  pale  pink  and  deep  red  roses. 
"  What  gorgeousness !  Where's  the  card  ? — Oh, 
of  course ! "  She  glanced  at  it  and  flipped  it 
into  the  basket.  "  Georgie-porgie,"  she  let 
fall  with  a  roguish  grimace,  and  turned  to  the 
door. 

"Mr.  Leland?"  Deb  stayed  her.  "I  might 
have  known,  by  the  lavishness." 

The  girl  flashed  round  on  the  threshold,  her 
eyes  laughing.  "  Mr.  Leland,"  she  mimicked 
grandiloquently.  "  He's  still  your  pet,  isn't  he, 
Deb  ?  Well,  dear,  you  may  have  him !  "  And 
she  was  gone. 

Deb  sat  where  she  had  shoved  her,  in  a  chaos 
of  thoughts — memories,  hopes,  fears,  resolu 
tions.  Tomorrow  she  would  tell  her,  surely  to 
morrow. 

"  Aimless."  The  laughing,  innocent  taunt  had 
sunk  deep  into  Deborah's  conscience.  Unques 
tionably  the  fault  was  hers,  banking  all  her  child's 
future  on  her  irresistible  loveliness  of  personality. 
It  was  so  indubitable,  Deb  assured  herself  fiercely. 
Just  now,  there  in  the  doorway— —  Ah,  what  a 


32  FULFILLMENT 

baby  she  had  been !    Thought  slipped  into  a  vista 
of  far,  long-passed  moments: 

The  day  of  her  mother's  passing  and  Gwen's 
coming — anguish  lost  in  ecstasy — when  her  fa 
ther,  taking  her  by  the  hand,  had  led  her  to  the 
mite  of  humanity  in  the  bassinet,  and  said,  very 
low,  "  See,  my  daughter,  you  will  have  to  be  all 
the  mother  the  baby  will  ever  know."  She,  Debo 
rah,  aged  twelve !  She  had  wrung  her  little  devo 
tee's  hands  hard  together  in  a  child's  fanaticism 
of  consecration.  Mother.  The  only  mother  the 

baby    would    ever    know, — the    only    baby 

Deb  strangled  that  straying  thought  harshly. 
Well,  and  what  of  the  years,  the  years  glorified 
by  Gwen, — her,  Deb's,  debt  to  the  inopportune 
gift  of  accident?  What  if  the  wayward  little 
feet  had  required  constant  running  after,  could 
she  forget  the  passion  of  joy  which  had  assailed 
her  every  time  the  radiant  willful  baby  face 
flashed  around  to  her  with,  "  Dwennie  bad  dirl  ?  " 
Whip  her  ?  Not  Deb !  What  if  Gwen's  education, 
Gwen's  social  obligations,  Gwen's  pretty  clothes, 
their  traveling  in  Europe  with  their  father  during 
his  sabbatical  year,  had  been  an  economical  battle 


PRIDE  OF  YOUTH  AND  BEAUTY      33 

which  only  Deb  had  fought, — had  they  not  been 
a  joy  as  well  ? 

A  strange,  creeping  sense  of  what  her  respon 
sibility  had  been  stole  over  her  as  she  remembered 
how  the  child  and  growing  girl  had  always  peered 
into  her  eyes,  seeking  her  approval  or  disapproval, 
the  very  roots  of  her  opinions.  Impressionable  as 
Gwen  had  always  been,  had  she,  Deb,  had  any 
right  to  let  the  questing  eyes  take  their  changing 
lights  and  darknesses  from  her,  Deb's,  very  soul  ? 
Had  she  guarded  her  treasure  too  jealously, 
fashioning  her  indeed  into  her  mere  reflection,  the 
reflection  of  the  girl  Deborah  Heath  might  have 
been  had  she  had  no  Gwen  to  live  vicariously  for 
her  ?  No,  no,  close  as  they  had  always  been,  Deb 
knew  the  individuality  that  had  escaped  from 
her  tutelage,  knew  there  was  the  unknown  quan 
tity,  the  personal  equation,  with  which,  in  the 
final  count,  she  would  always  have  to  reckon. 

What  had  been  the  outcome  of  her  own  ma 
terialism  born  of  Gwen's  adventure  into  the  halls 
of  the  potentates?  The  girl  had  held  Lansing 
Wells  in  the  palm  of  her  narrow,  exquisite  hand, 
and  suddenly,  with  incredible  unconcern,  had  let 


34  FULFILLMENT 

him,  the  acme  of  dazzling  material  and  social 
eminence,  slip  from  her  nonchalant  power,  be 
cause 

She  shivered.  Upon  the  heels  of  her  worldly 
commentary  had  rushed  the  great  shadow  sepa 
rating  her,  hurling  her,  as  it  were,  into  space,  out 
of  communion  with  the  center  of  her  universe. 

Austin  Dane. 

Gwen  knew  of  her  opposition — and  Gwen  ig 
nored  it. 

The  bitterness  of  the  one  who  no  longer  counts, 
burned  deeply.  She  fixed  the  frowning  eye  of  her 
mind  upon  the  man. 

He  loomed  big,  dominant,  in  his  Norse-like 
appearance  and  consciousness  of  power.  He,  the 
successful  playwright, — whose  drama,  High 
Lights,  was  still  holding  the  metropolitan  boards 
and  the  skeptic  enthusiasm  of  the  intellectual  pub 
lic, — had,  while  on  a  tour  of  the  world,  come  to 
her  father  with  a  question  upon  the  Bacchic 
dance,  and  a  letter  of  personal  introduction  from 
Professor  Heath's  own  distinguished  Boston  pub 
lisher  and  editor.  Deb  would  never  forget  that 
night.  Her  father  had  received  him  with  stately 


PRIDE  OF  YOUTH  AND  BEAUTY      35 

graciousness  which  had  soon  thawed  into  de 
lighted  warmth  under  the  mental  spell  of  the 
stranger,  while  Deb,  in  the  shadow  of  the  lamp, 
had  felt  herself  irresistibly  fitting  the  Englishman 
to  his  play, — strong,  frank,  free  to  libertinism. 
Unconscious  at  first,  the  antagonism  of  her  puri 
tanic  virginity  had  grown  insidiously,  until  she 
had  felt  herself  rearing  a  wall  against  his  fascina 
tion,  stern  and  implacable. 

And,  suddenly,  Gwen  in  the  doorway,  just  re 
turned  from  a  dinner  at  Mabel  Goddard's.  And 
the  man  on  his  feet,  and  the  slender  girl  in  filmy 
white  coming  forward  in  slow  questioning. 

Into  Deb's  consciousness  had  rushed  with 
dizzying  force  a  strange  recognition  of  impact — 
soul,  senses,  sex — what? — And  she  had  thrown 
up  more  fortifications. 

"  Mr.  Dane,  Gwen,"  she  had  introduced  in  a 
hard,  dry  formalism.  "  Mr.  Austin  Dane.  My 
sister,  Mr.  Dane." 

And  Gwen,  the  light  of  delight  in  her  mobile 
face,  her  quick  hand  outstretched,  "  Austin  Dane 
of  Eight  Lights?" 

"  You  know  me  ?  "  he  had  asked  as  their  hands 


36  FULFILLMENT 

touched  fleetingly,  and  Deb  had  felt  all  her  in 
stincts  fighting  against  the  subtle  change  in  the 
man's  voice  and  attitude,  against  a  certain  wist- 
fulness  in  Gwen's,  "  A  long-distance  knowledge 
only." 

He  had  left  abruptly  a  few  minutes  later,  only 
to  come  again,  unannounced,  the  next  afternoon, 
asking  for  Gwen. 

So  the  man  had  lingered  on  in  the  far  distant, 
western  city.  And  Deb's  efforts  to  keep  them 
apart  had  fallen  puny  and  futile  against  the  tide 
of  a  stronger  instinct.  There  were  walks,  always 
walks,  it  seemed  to  Deborah,  mornings,  after 
noons,  nights,  and  Gwen  returning  from  them — 
glowing  as  she  had  never  glowed  before,  with  a 
nameless  self-assurance  that  brooked  no  inter 
ference.  Deb  recalled  the  night  when  they  had 
returned  from  a  performance  of  Antigone  at  the 
Greek  Theater  at  Berkeley,  where  they  had  all 
been  spellbound  under  the  magic  of  the  night,  the 
place,  the  drama, — the  classic  harmony  and 
grandeur  of  the  play  with  its  surroundings.  But, 
at  the  close,  Deb  and  her  father  had  been  sepa 
rated  from  the  other  two  on  the  campus  and 


PRIDE  OF  YOUTH  AND  BEAUTY      37 

taken  an  earlier  return  boat,  and  Deb,  waiting 
up  anxiously  for  the  tardy  one,  had  been  con 
fronted  by  a  far-away  glory  on  her  face  and 
brow  that  had  sent  her  irritability  recoiling  on 
her  own  heart  with  a  grip  of  unaccountable, 
premonitory  fear,  and  the  few  admonitory  words 
she  had  purposed  saying  had  died  on  her  lips. 

And  two  mornings  later  they  had  found  their 
father  asleep  there  in  his  chair,  his  silvery  head 
against  the  old  leather  cushion,  his  face  smiling 
over  his  soul's  last  great  flight, — and  the  man, 
Austin  Dane,  unobtrusive,  but  always  there,  had, 
with  his  quiet,  helpful  sympathy,  not  of  word, 
but  of  act,  beaten  his  way  through  some  of  the 
outworks  of  the  enemy. 

Now,  however,  she  looked  with  set  mouth  and 
denying  eyes  around  the  old  familiar  room,  mel 
low  with  transfigured  memories,  beautiful  with  its 
careful  refinement  rather  of  comfort  than  of 
luxury,  remembering  with  a  sudden  sense  of  im 
minent  danger  that  Lansing  Wells  was  "  out  of 
the  way/'  It  came  like  a  wireless  S.OS.  in  the 
night. 

"  I  must  tell  her  tomorrow/'  concluded  Debo- 


38  FULFILLMENT 

rah  to  herself  with  a  miserable  accession  of  cow 
ardly  hesitancy  as,  across  her  dark  abstractions, 
a  light,  girlish  voice  called  out: 

"  Bread-and-butter ! — come  to  supper !  " 

Deborah,  rising  and  going  to  pick  up  the  bowl 
of  roses,  stood  a  moment  gazing  through  the  win 
dow  toward  the  hills  where  a  ghostly  line  of 
vaporous  white,  like  a  wisp  of  tulle,  was  creeping 
across  their  wooded  bases.  "  It  will  be  foggy 
tonight,"  she  thought,  and  went  into  the  dining- 
room. 

Gwen  had  pulled  up  the  blinds,  letting  the 
lingering,  rosy  light  smile  upon  the  dainty  table. 
The  warm  smell  of  crusty  biscuits  fresh  from 
the  oven  greeted  Deb's  nostrils  as  she  set  the  roses 
in  the  center,  and  took  her  place  at  the  head.  Out 
side,  nodding  roses  smiled  in  at  them,  too,  from 
the  luxuriant  old  garden  as  if  blessing  a  familiar 
scene. 

For  some  time,  save  for  a  detached  word  now 
and  then,  the  sisters  ate  in  silence,  reaction,  after 
her  outburst  in  the  library,  having  settled  upon 
Gwen,  as  well.  It  was  not  an  unusual  thing  for 
these  two  to  sit  together  in  silence  for  long 


PRIDE  OF  YOUTH  AND  BEAUTY      39 

stretches  of  time,  but  presently  a  low  chuckling 
from  the  girl  opposite  drew  Deb's  attention,  and 
she  looked  toward  her  questioningly. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  prompted,  leisurely  eating  aspar 
agus. 

Gwen,  her  cheek  sunk  in  the  palm  of  her  hand, 
idly  trailing  a  stalk  through  the  sauce  on  her 
plate,  continued  to  chortle  a  moment  before  an 
swering.  Then,  her  eyes  bent  upon  the  golden 
line  she  was  tracing,  she  laughed  out,  "  Did  it 
ever  occur  to  you, — the  biscuits,  you  know,  and 
Lansing  Wells's  disaffection  now, — that  you  and 
I  might  go  on,  and  on,  and  on,  this  way,  day 
after  day  and  year  after  year,  till  the  end  of  our 
lives,  two  lone  old  spinster  ladies  together, — like 
characters  out  of  one  of  Mary  Wilkins's  novels?  " 

"  Never/'  returned  Deb  composedly. 

"  No  ?  "  pursued  the  other  in  meek  wonder 
ment.  "Prithee,  why  not?" 

"  Manifest  destiny,"  returned  Deborah  dryly, 
rising  and  picking  up  the  plates.  "  Don't  be  ab 
surd,  Gwen." 

:<  You  conceited  old  hen !  "  Gwen  called  after 
her  as  she  disappeared  into  the  pantry,  and,  in 


40  FULFILLMENT 

maiden  meditation,  she  let  her  chin  sink  into  both 
her  encircling  hands. 

But  at  that  instant  the  telephone  bell  rang  from 
the  hall  and  she  sprang  up  to  answer  it.  Deb, 
returning  with  a  bowl  of  strawberries,  heard  the 
following : 

"West  2100?"  Followed  an  almost  imper 
ceptible  pause,  and  then,  with  a  slow,  rich  brogue, 
"Shure!" 

"  Miss  Gwin  ?  No,  sorr,  she's  out  this  avenin'. 
Anny  missage  ?  " 

"  Shure,  I'll  remimber,  Misther  Layland." 

"  Misther  Garge  Layland.  L-e-y-1-a-n-d. 
Yiss,  sorr,  that's  phwhat  I'm  sayin' — Layland. 
No,  I  won't  forgit.  At  onct  in  the  marnin'. 
Good-by." 

The  receiver  was  banged  into  position  and 
Gwen  came  back  grinning. 

"  D'you  know  who  that  was  ?  "  she  laughed, 
slipping  into  her  seat  and  taking  her  strawberries 
from  Deb. 

"  I  heard  you.    You  deserve  a  spanking." 

"  Tut— tut.  It's  the  greatest  fun !  That's  the 
second  time  this  week, — I  might  have  known  he 


PRIDE  OF  YOUTH  AND  BEAUTY     41 

would  follow  his  flowers.    Don't  I  do  it  well  ? " 

"  Well !  I  wish  you  would  stop  playing  with 
that  man.  You  know  he  isn't  playing." 

"Well,  then,  he  should  be,"  Gwen  declared 
roundly,  taking  the  cup  of  coffee  Deb  passed  her. 
"  It  isn't  my  fault  if  he's  so  stupid  he  can't  take 
a  hint." 

"  He  is  not  stupid." 

"  He  is." 

"  You  know  better.    Mabel  Goddard " 

"  Oh,  let  her  keep  her  old  cousin.  You  and 
she  make  me  tired  with  your  matchmaking.  You 
know  I  won't " 

"  Nobody  is  matchmaking.  But  I  like  George 
Leland.  I  like  his  simple,  direct,  young  man 
hood — strong  and  sound  and  clean,  as  though  he 
were  kept  so  by  something  outside  himself.  He  is 
in  a  class  by  himself !  What  can  you  find  against 
him?" 

"  Deborah  dear,  is  it  possible  you  don't  know?  " 
She  spoke  in  grave  wonderment. 

"  I  certainly  do  not.  What  on  earth  are  you 
talking  about?" 

"  Dear,  have  you  never  felt,  have  you  never 


42  FULFILLMENT 

foreseen,  that,  if  it  should  ever  occur  to  him  to 
quote,  he  would  quote — Longfellow  ?  " 

Deborah  received  her  solemn  mockery  with  a 
glance  of  crushing  scorn. 

"  Woman !  "  thundered  the  girlish  voice  irre- 
pressibly.  "  Speak !  Have  you  not  seen — have 
you  not  heard  ?  " 

"  You're  too  absurd  to  answer." 

"  Why,  she's  really  and  truly  violent  over  it !  " 

"  I'm  really  and  truly  disgusted  with  your 
measure  of  a  man.  Mere  book-culture  doesn't 
make  a  man, — mere  book-culture  is  egoistic 
sterility,  mere  mental  dry  rot/' 

"Hear,  hear!" 

"  If  it  doesn't  inform  your  heart,  if  it  doesn't 
move  you  to  go  out  and  give  it  to  those  who  have 
never  had  the  chance  to  taste  the  mental  luxuries 
upon  which  you  have  gorged,  if  you  don't  use  it, 
as  Jane  Addams  says,  '  To  feed  the  mind  of  the 
worker,  to  lift  it  above  the  monotony  of  his  task, 
and  to  connect  it  with  the  larger  world  outside 
of  his  surroundings ' ' 

"  Who's  quoting  now  ?  "  broke  in  Gwen  slyly. 
"And  whom  are  you  really  attacking?  Me? 


PRIDE  OF  YOUTH  AND  BEAUTY     43 

Who?  We  were  speaking  of  George  Leland, 
weren't  we?  " 

"  Exactly,'*  conceded  Deb,  subsiding  lamely. 

"  And  I  suggested  that  he  and  I  never  meet, — 
that  we  don't  speak  the  same  mental  language, 
and  so " 

"  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  to  interpret  the  clean 
young  strength  of  him,  the  glowing  light  behind 
his  luminous  eyes,  the " 

"  Didn't  I  just  do  it?  "  cried  the  girl,  search 
ing  among  the  roses  and,  finding  some  loose  buds, 
pelting  her  sister  with  them.  "  Take  that,  you 
militant  partisan,  you !  What  did  my  *  Long 
fellow  '  mean,  stupid  ?  Don't  you  see  you've  been 
talking  in  a  circle?  Take  that  for  your  pains, 
and " 

The  rain  of  roses  ceased  abruptly  as  the  tinkle 
of  the  telephone  sounded  again,  and  Gwen  danced 
into  the  hall,  aiming  her  last  rose  at  Deb's  head, 
in  passing. 

Deb,  sitting  straight  and  still,  heard  this,  too, 
heard,  as  well,  the  faint,  quickly  controlled  trem 
ble  in  the  girl's  voice  at  first,  followed  by  the 
full-throated  softness : 


44  FULFILLMENT 

"  Yes,  this  is  West  2100." 

"  Yes.     It's  me." 

"  Yes,  you  always  do  recognize  it." 

"  Yes,  I  knew — yours." 

"  Is  it?    I  thought  it  was  foggy  this  evening." 

"Oh,  has  it  cleared?" 

"  That  sounds  alluring." 

"  I'd  love  to." 

"  Yes.  But — er — wait  a  minute — I'll  ask  my 
sister." 

Deb,  with  contracted  heart,  did  not  need  the 
starry  look  on  the  face  in  the  doorway  to  enlighten 
her. 

"  Mr.  Dane  wants  me  to  go  for  a  walk  with 
him.  Martha'll  be  home  in  a  few  minutes,  won't 
she?"  Her  voice  lilted.  "Do  you  care,  Deb? 
He  has  something  to  tell  me — to  ask  me — about 
his  play.  May  I,  Deb?  "  She  was  quite  uncon 
scious  of  the  confession  her  face  was  making. 

Deborah,  picking  up  the  fallen  roses,  repeated 
coldly,  "A  walk?" 

"  Why,  yes,  a  walk.  For  heaven's  sake,  Deb, 
please  remember  he  is  waiting.  I  really  don't 
know  why  I  ask  you! "  She  veered  indignantly 


PRIDE  OF  YOUTH  AND  BEAUTY     45 

about  from  her  sister's  frigid  stare,  and  the  next 
instant  Deborah  heard  her  agreeing  to  his  com 
ing. 

With  set  features  she  stood  waiting  for  the 
girl  to  return,  suddenly  resolved  to  express  her 
doubts  of  the  stranger  who  had  found  favor  in 
her  young,  romantic  imagination.  Surely  their 
father  had  not  known,  nor  did  they  know,  this 
man.  Had  she  not  questioned  Gwen  ?  A  genius  ? 

Perhaps.    But  the  man — his  family,  his  past :? 

Trivial,  lightning-quick  protests  flashed  through 
her:  Why  need  he  carry  his  hat  in  his  hand  in 
stead  of  on  his  head  as  other  men  are  wont  to  do 
on  the  street?  How  dared  he  come  that  second 
day  asking  Gwen  for  a  walk — Gwen  with  whom 
he  had  scarcely  exchanged  three  words,  flouting 
all  deference  and  convention !  And  his  talk — his 
"  immodest  "  phraseology, — sincerity,  he  called 
it, — Deb  shuddered, — his  insidious  smile  at  every 
thing  in  the  category  of  The  Established.  He  was 
not  according  to  type,  the  type  accepted  by  the 
majority,  therefore  the  right  type,  contended 
Deborah  Heath  intolerantly,  drawing  her  moral 
skirts  narrowly  about  her,  prepared  to  express 


46  FULFILLMENT 

herself  unequivocally,  inopportunely  perhaps,  but 
of  necessity,  to  her  infatuated  young  sister. 

But  Gwen,  humming  the  latest,  maddest  rag 
time,  danced  on  to  the  fortress  of  her  own  room. 
Deb  heard  her  turn  the  key  in  the  lock.  It  was  an 
unwritten  law  in  the  Heath  family  that  the  privacy 
demanded  by  a  locked  door  must  never  be  dis 
turbed. 


CHAPTER  III 
HER  SOUL'S  ADVENTURE 

So  it  was  Deborah  who  answered  Dane's  ring. 

He  flung  his  soft  hat  on  to  the  hall  settee  as 
she,  greeting  him,  drew  back  from  his  bigness  as 
she  might  have  from  his  canine  namesake,  and 
followed  her  into  the  softly  lighted  library. 

"  I've  been  standing  on  the  doorstep  listening 
to  your  music,"  he  said  characteristically,  with 
out  salutation  of  any  description.  "  What  were 
you  playing, — Brahms,  I  think?  And  then  But 
terfly?" 

"  I  don't  know.    Just  hodge-podge,  probably." 

He  smiled  upon  her,  showing  two  rows  of  per 
fect,  white  teeth,  lightly  set  together  in  exact 
meeting,  a  smile  of  indulgent  amusement. 

"  Neo-impressionism — Futurism  ?  "  he  sug 
gested.  Deb  saw  the  playful  challenge  behind 
the  word,  and,  as  usual,  pitted  herself  against  the 
anticipated  impersonalities  which  she  had  come 

47 


48  FULFILLMENT 

to  look  upon  as  a  deliberate  buffer  against  any 
inadvertent  personal  disclosure. 

"  I  hope  not,"  she  smiled  back  from  the  tips 
of  her  lips.  "  I  hate  the  cult.  I'm  too  deadly 
earnest,  I  suppose,  to  admire  such  sheer  affecta 
tion — just  dibs  and  dabs  at  things,  without  direc- 
tion." 

Dane  quelled  the  laugh  in  his  mind,  thrusting 
back  the  unruly  lock  of  tawny  hair  which  had  a 
trick  of  tumbling  over  his  brow  and  which  Deb 
considered  another  affectation.  "  But  that's  life, 
isn't  it?"  he  deferred  to  her.  "  Broken  lines — 
suggestive  of  purpose — maimed  half  the  time, 
half  the  time  left  dangling — to  be  interpreted 
according  to  our  individual  light — or  inter 
ests?" 

Deb  set  her  lips.  "  No,"  she  replied.  "  That 
is  not  like  life.  Not  like  sincere  life.  You  are 
speaking  of  fads  and  whims.  That  isn't  real 
life — life  among  our  fellows — life  with  its 
goals." 

"  Always  the  capital  letter,"  he  bantered. 

"  Yes,  always  the  capital  letter,"  she  returned 
him  steadily. 


HER  SOUL'S  ADVENTURE  49 

He  bent  his  head.  "  You  humble  me/'  he  said, 
and  his  swift  frankness  brought  a  flush  of  contri 
tion  to  Deb's  brow. 

"  Won't  you  sit  down  ? "  she  asked. 
"  Gwen " 

But  he  had  turned  his  face  from  her  toward 
the  door,  listening. 

"Atalanta,"  he  half-spoke,  half-smiled.  A 
light,  quick  footfall  was  approaching,  and  Deb, 
disturbedly,  saw  the  whole  man  at  atten 
tion. 

Gwen  came  in,  in  radiance,  despite  the  soft 
black  cloud  of  her  gown. 

He  met  her  with  a  quick  stride,  taking  her  coat 
from  her. 

"  Ready  ? "  he  greeted,  but  their  eyes  had  had 
their  meeting. 

"  All  but  my  gloves,"  she  answered,  and  pre 
pared  to  draw  them  on. 

He  took  them  from  her  quickly,  stuffing  them 
into  his  pocket. 

"  What  do  you  want  those  for?  "  he  asked,  and 
held  her  coat  for  her  slender  shoulders. 

Deb  noticed  the  masterfulness  and  tapped  the 


50  FULFILLMENT 

table  with  restive  fingers.  "  Don't  be  long,"  she 
admonished  with  curt  intention,  following  them  to 
the  door. 

The  sweet  night  air,  rife  with  adventure,  stole 
in  to  her  for  a  moment  before  she  closed  it  out, 
and  them  with  it. 

Gwen's  light  laugh  punctuated  the  click  of  the 
latch.  "  Deb's  way,"  she  said,  flitting  beside  him 
down  the  long  flight  of  worn  steps.  "  One's  al 
ways  on  schedule  with  her.'* 

"  Ah,  schedule,"  he  returned,  and  for  a  second 
a  frowning  sense  of  loyalty  roused  her  against 
him.  Was  he  scoffing  at  Deb?  But  the  next 
instant  he  was  saying  simply,  slightly  raising  his 
hat,  "  It  has  been  my  privilege  to  know  a  fine 
woman — though  a  consistent  one! — knowing 
Deborah  Heath,"  and  with  a  thrill  of  joy  over  his 
laughing  recognition,  Gwen  wished  that  he  could 
have  said  as  much  of  her. 

They  took  the  hills,  walking  silent,  the  girl 
fleet  as  a  nymph,  the  man  covering  the  ground 
with  long,  easy  strides.  A  light  wind  struck 
them  in  the  face,  frolicking  with  tendrils  of 
Gwen's  hair,  with  the  hem  of  her  clinging  skirt. 


HER  SOUL'S  ADVENTURE  51 

The  air  was  clean  and  keen,  after  the  lifted  fog. 
Stars  danced  in  a  pale  young  sky. 

Now,  as  always,  Gwen  was  wholly  alone  with 
him,  ietached  from  all  others,  responsible  to 
nothing.  Now,  as  it  had  always  been  when  with 
him,  she  came  into  her  own,  individuality  came 
from  under  cover,  she  walked  in  her  own  woman 
hood,  proud  and  free.  Here  Gwen  Heath's  story 
was  all-sufficing,  here  she  was  the  wonderful  pro 
tagonist — he  the  other.  Nevermore  could  she  be 
without  significance,  knowing  this, — knowing 
this,  she  held  the  knowledge  of  all  time  within 
herself,  and  could  face  the  world  fairly,  on  any 
terms.  Thus,  in  elemental  fearlessness,  under  the 
stars,  over  the  heights,  went  Gwen,  in  paradise 
with  her  mate,  for,  wherever  two  lovers  wander 
together,  there  is  the  Garden  of  Eden. 

As  often  before,  they  spoke  no  word,  neither 
did  they  pause,  but  communion  was  absolute  be 
tween  them.  They  reached  the  Presidio,  the 
Reservation  grounds,  and  the  faint  soughing  in 
high  boughs  went  with  them.  They  walked 
through  dim  avenues  of  eucalyptus,  tall,  austere, 
druidical,  and  Gwen,  fantastically,  felt  a  sudden 


52  FULFILLMENT 

stillness  of  heart,  as  though  she  were  running  the 
gauntlet  of  strange,  grim  judges.  But  she  knew 
no  fear — the  eyes  in  her  heart  looked  out  at  them 
in  joyful  faith  and  self-assurance.  And,  as  if  in 
intuitive  answer,  the  man  beside  her  put  out  his 
hand  and,  his  fingers  closing  about  her  small 
wrist,  slipped  down  and,  hand  in  hand,  they 
moved  on,  all-sufficient.  Selflessness  took  her. 
"  Anything,  dear,"  her  silent  accord  seemed  to  be 
saying.  "  Anywhere.  '  Whither  thou  goest,  I 
shall  go,'  " — the  eternal  womanly. 

Then  they  came  to  the  open  and  stood  above 
the  Gate  that  leads  to  the  Sea,  the  Infinite  of 
Waters.  He  drew  her  arm  within  his  and  they 
stood  looking  out.  Below  them  leaped  the  break 
ers  running  dim  and  white  to  dash  themselves  in 
futile,  ghostly  foam  against  the  rock-bound  shore. 
Opposite,  a  line  of  shadowy  mountains  encircled 
the  cove,  girdling  the  Gate  in  divine  protection, 
guarding  its  misty  beauty  with  mystery.  The 
waves  beat  ceaselessly  against  the  shore,  systole, 
diastole,  like  a  heart. 

His  arm  slipped  from  hers,  he  took  her  face 
between  his  hands,  bending  worshipingly  to  its 


HER  SOUL'S  ADVENTURE  53 

purity.      "  Gwen,"   he   whispered,   and  he  held 
her. 

The  waves  beat  ceaselessly,  systole,  diastole, 
like  a  monstrous  heart. 

She  drew  from  him,  turned  from  his  crush 
ing  arms,  from  his  passionate  kisses,  his  inarticu 
late  whispers,  and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands.  But 
within  the  chaos  of  her  swaying  senses,  a  still 
voice  was  repeating  over  and  over,  as  if  in  as 
surance,  as  if  for  all  time,  "  This  is  my  hus 
band,"  quite  simply,  like  a  child  at  prayer. 

But  when,  laughing  reproachfully,  he  sought 
to  draw  her  back,  she  broke  away,  saying  capri 
ciously,  "  Let's  go  on,"  and  drew  him  with  her. 

They  walked  over  endless  hills  and  stretches, 
for  mere  caprice,  it  seemed  to  Dane,  and,  as  she 
would  have  no  speech,  he  sang  to  her,  in  a  tender, 
teasing  undertone,  a  garbled  medley  of  senti 
mental  old  love  songs  mixed  grotesquely  with 
dramatic  snatches  of  Wagner  and  Strauss.  Gwen 
never  heard  the  least  of  those  strains  in  later 
years,  without  a  memory  which  leaped  to  the 
knowledge  that  the  human  soul  may  glimpse 
heights  undreamed  of  in  the  smooth,  sweet  se- 


54  FULFILLMENT 

curity  of  average  daily  existence.  But  presently, 
without  prelude  or  preface,  he  began  to  murmur, 
more  to  himself  than  to  her,  Their  Last  Ride 
Together,  but  as  his  brooding  voice  chanted, 

"  What  if  the  world  should  end  tonight?  " 

she  stopped  him  peremptorily.  "  I  won't  listen," 
she  said,  her  hands  to  her  ears.  "  Besides — here 


we  are ! " 


"  Where  ?  "  he  asked  in  bewilderment. 

They  were  standing  on  a  high,  rocky  cliff.  Be 
low  them  the  diapason  of  thunderous  waves 
boomed  and  broke  and  echoed  and  boomed  again 
in  endless  titanic  music. 

"  Land's  End,"  she  answered  with  a  laugh, 
and  moved  toward  the  edge. 

"  Land's  End?  "  he  echoed,  following  her,  and 
seizing  her  words  as  part  of  her  mood, — was 
she  not  a  sprite,  the  very  spirit  of  the  madness 
clashing  through  sea,  and  sky,  and  air,  into  their 
very  senses?  "Land's  End!"  he  repeated. 
"  Then  here  our  freedom  begins." 


HER  SOUL'S  ADVENTURE  55 

"  No,  no,"  she  hurriedly  protested  against  she 
knew  not  what.  "  That's  the  name  of  the  spot, 
truly.  Just  a  little  way  down " 

"Take  care— you'll  fall!"  His  arm  went 
around  her  quickly  as  they  picked  their  way  down 
the  shelving  rocks. 

"  I  know  the  way  in  the  dark,"  she  laughed 
again,  the  wild,  salt  air  filling  their  nostrils,  beat 
ing  around  them  in  their  precipitous  descent. 
"  Now."  She  stood  on  a  ledge,  free  of  him 
for  a  second,  the  cutting  wind  whipping  her  gar 
ments  tight  about  her  slight,  almost  boyish  figure, 
poised  in  mutinous  daring.  Then  she  stepped 
over  and  seated  herself  upon  a  bowlder  and 
leaned  her  back  against  the  cliff,  and  he,  spring 
ing  down,  threw  himself  beside  her,  and  drew  her 
face  down  to  his. 

They  were  alone  with  the  elements — booming 
sea,  and  scurrying,  whimpering  winds,  and  stars 
palpitating  through  thin,  drifting  veils  of  fog. 
And  Gwen  Heath  in  sudden  strange  abandon 
ment,  raising  her  drooping  head,  drew  him  up  to 
her,  holding  him  close  for  one  deathless  moment. 
Then,  as  passionately,  she  thrust  him  from  her, 


56  FULFILLMENT 

pressing  her  slenderness  against  the  wall  of  rock 
behind  her,  and  turned  her  face  away. 

Dane  let  her  have  her  way. 

Presently  she  turned  toward  him,  clasping  her 
hands  upon  her  knee  in  signal  of  desistance.  "  I 
thought,"  she  explained  with  burning,  girlish  self- 
consciousness,  "  that,  knowing  how  I  loved  this 
place,  you'd  know  me  better — know  my  whys 
and  wherefores  better — here.  That's  why  I 


came." 


"  I  couldn't  know  you  better,  Gwen." 

"I  wonder!" 

:t  You  know,  Gwen." 

"What  do  I  know?" 

"  Why,  I  know  you  absolutely.  How  it  is  with 
me — between  you  and  me." 

"  Say  it  simply — once." 

"  That  we  love  each  other." 

"  That  Holy  Word,  Austin." 

"  Say  it,  Gwen." 

"  I  love  you.  You  can  never  know  how  I  love 
you,  Austin." 

"  Say  after  me,  Amen." 

"  Amen,  and  amen,  and  amen." 


HER  SOUL'S  ADVENTURE  57 

The  running  chords  of  the  sea  took  up  the 
refrain. 

"  It's  like  a  marriage, — eternal,  Austin." 

"  Eternal,  child." 

"  Ad  infinitum" 

"  So,  little  classic." 

"  Even  the  grave  can't  write  Finis.  I  know  that 
now.  Do  you  remember  Browning's  Prospice?  " 

"  I  only  remember  you." 

"  I  was  thinking  aloud.  He  was  such  a  lover, 
too." 

"  Though  a  realist." 

"  Like  you,  Austin." 

"  Well? "  he  clasped  his  arms  behind  his  head 
and  turned  his  uplifted  face  toward  her.  Accus 
tomed  now  to  the  dark,  she  could  even  discern 
the  expression  on  its  strong  lineaments.  He 
seemed  to  be  waiting. 

"  About  the  Play  ?  "  she  ventured.  "  Have  you 
finished  it?" 

He  hesitated  a  moment.  "  You  have  just  fin 
ished  it  for  me,"  he  said  almost  roughly. 

Startled  at  the  tone,  she  searched  his  face. 
"  I  ?  "  she  murmured. 


58  FULFILLMENT 

"Who  else  could?" 

"  But  she— Lola " 

"You  are  Lola." 

"And  she ?" 

"  Goes  with  him." 

"I  knew  it,  I  knew  it!"  She  clapped  her 
hands  ecstatically. 

"  There  was  no  faltering." 

"  How  could  there  be  ?  "  Her  voice  was  lifted 
proudly. 

"  She  left  her  father  and  mother,  and  fol 
lowed  him." 

"Father  and  mother?    But  she  had  none." 

"  Conventions,  traditions,  truisms — the  soul's 
provincialisms.  Was  she  not  born  of  these?  She 
flung  free  of  them — became  Herself.  In  one  mo 
ment — triumphant. ' ' 

"  Triumphant.  The  inspiration  of  that  word, 
Austin!  Yet  why  marvel?  If  great  faith  can 
move  mountains,  why  not  the  little  hillocks  round 
the  summit  of  a  woman's  great  love?" 

"  Ah,  faith,  my  love,  my  darling !  " 

"  Surely,  dearest.  Love  includes  faith."  She 
spoke  quietly,  with  the  tranquillity  of  finality. 


HER  SOUL'S  ADVENTURE  59 

How  peacefully  the  booming  sea  sounded  now, 
deep,  tender,  how  little  seemed  its  turmoil  in 
view  of  eternity.  She  sat  still,  in  sphinxian 
silence. 

He  turned  more  squarely  toward  her,  putting 
his  hand  over  her  two  clasped  so  tightly  upon 
her  knee.  "  Then  you  will  come  with  me, 
Gwen?" 

"  To  the  ends  of  the  earth.  Did  you  doubt 
it,  dear?  "  She  spoke  gently,  as  a  mother  to  her 
child. 

His  hand  over  hers  pressed  hard.  "  In  spite 
of  convention,  tradition,  public  opinion — the 
whole  grinning  brood  of  philistine  thought — the 
tyrants  of  slavish  souls?  " 

She  laughed  merrily.  "  Still  harping  on  your 
Play!  Happily  we  don't  have  to  struggle  with 
that.  Unless,"  she  laughed  adoringly,  drawing 
her  hands  from  under  his  hold  and  twining  her 
fingers  about  his,  "  unless  you  don't  believe  in 
marriage,  like  unreal  people  in  books.  Oh,  I 
know, — you,  and  G.  B.  S.,  and  Galsworthy,  and 
Wells, — all  your  tribe  with  your  theories  that  you 
wouldn't  dream  of  putting  into  practice.  All  that 


60  FULFILLMENT 

'  liberty '  you  hint  at  or  talk  about  so  openly 
means  libertinism  in  reality,  as  you  know  very 
well, — all  that  '  individualism '  you  acclaim  so 
nobly — on  paper! — means  temperamental  irre 
sponsibility,  doesn't  it,  dear?  Novels  is  novels, 
but  you  and  me  is  you  and  me,  aren't  we  ? — part 
of  the  dear  world.  I  know,  that  though  you  may 
write  upside  down,  you  live  straight,  and  you 
could  never  really  think  that  such  a  simple  thing 
as  the  sanction  of  our  dear  world  could  spoil 
our  sanctuary,  or  that  a  pretty,  filmy,  wedding 
veil  even,  could  stand  between  us  and  happiness." 
She  laughed  again  in  adoration,  bending  slightly 
nearer  to  him. 

For  several  seconds  he  did  not  stir. 
Then  the  trenchant  voice  made  answer. 
"  But  I  cannot  marry  you,  Gwen." 
The  elements  boomed  and   echoed  in  salvo. 
Echoes,  and  more  echoes,  crazily,  meaninglessly, 
dying  finally  into  nothing. 

Then  a  frightened,  groping  sound.  "  You " 

"  I  have  a  wife  and  child  in  London." 
The  sea  thundered  it  to  her,  the  hills  reverber 
ated  it,  again,  and  again,  and  again. 


HER  SOUL'S  ADVENTURE  61 

"  But  that  is  nothing — can  have  nothing  to  do 
with  our  love.  I " 

"  I  do — not — understand  you."  Her  wail 
pierced  the  moan  of  the  sea. 

"  Hush,  Gwen,  hush,  sweet,"  his  gripping  hand 
almost  broke  hers.  "  There  is  nothing  more  to 
understand,  now  that  it  has  come  to  this  between 
us.  My  boy  is  ill,  and  I  must  leave  post-haste 
tomorrow.  That  is  why  I  told  you  tonight.  I 
thought  perhaps, — you  would  not  make  me  wait. 
Answer  me,  Gwen,  answer." 

Imps  held  her.  Imps  beating  the  air  about  her, 
beating  into  her  brain,  invading,  burning,  pil 
laging  her  maidenhood  with  fire  and  sword. 

Then,  out  of  the  roots  of  her,  voiceless,  came 
the  cry: 

Deb!    Deb!    Deb! 

She  hurled  away  from  him,  springing  like  a 
wild  thing  to  her  feet,  dragging  him  up  with  her. 

"  Stand  away,"  she  commanded  hoarsely. 
"  You  deceived  me — I  don't  know  you — let  me 
pass." 

She  strained  against  the  rocks,  her  foot  grop 
ing  upward.  He  caught  her  arm. 


62  FULFILLMENT 

"  You're  mad,  Gwen.  Just  one  minute,  darling. 
You — you  who  could  rejoice  with  Lola,  you, 
triumphant!  Gwen,  Gwen,  don't  judge " 

"  Let  go !  "  she  cried  fiercely,  tearing  at  his 
iron  clasp.  "  You  insult  me — you  defile  me.  Let 
go,  or— -I'll  kill  you!" 

She  wrenched  herself  free  with  a  strength  born 
of  frenzy,  and  fled  up  the  rocky  steep,  a  soul 
possessed. 

The  sea  boomed  in  eternal  struggle.  The  little 
salt  winds  whimpered  like  a  beaten  child. 


CHAPTER  IV 
FINIS 

AN  hour  later  Deborah  opened  the  door  for 
her. 

The  girl  turned  a  white,  strained  smile  upon 
her  and  walked  past  her,  straight,  and  stark,  and 
silent,  to  her  room. 

Deb  leaned  against  the  wall,  one  hand  upon 
the  great  bronze  knob  of  the  front  door — hold 
ing  out  the  world. 

In  the  distance  something  snapped,  and  a  grat 
ing  sound  followed. 

It  was  Gwen  locking  her  door  between  them. 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  CROSS  ROADS 

DEBORAH  said,  "  I  have  something  to  tell  you, 
Gwen." 

She  chose  this  mode  of  announcement  deliber 
ately.  Something  had  to  be  done  to  startle  the 
girl  from  her  piteous  abstraction.  It  was  not  a 
listless  abstraction,  not  a  sinking  down  as  under 
a  heavy  blow,  rather  she  seemed  to  be  driving 
herself  from  it,  to  be  tearing  from  it  with  all  her 
might  as  from  the  hold  of  a  vampire,  startling 
Deb  with  an  abrupt,  "  What  was  I  going  to  do, 
Deb?"  Or,  "What  were  you  saying?"  Or, 
"  Let  me  do  it."  Or,  "  I'm  going— let  me  go," 
spasmodic  pretexts  to  keep  herself  from  herself 
in  a  white  heat  of  determination. 

This  had  gone  on  for  three  days,  Deb  seeing 
it  all,  knowing  nothing  save  the  recollection  of 
that  deathly  smile  she  had  encountered  that  night 
in  the  hall.  Gwen  had  come  out  of  her  room 


THE  CROSS  ROADS  65 

the  next  morning  at  her  usual  time,  with  sunken, 
swollen  eyes,  to  be  sure,  but  only  Deborah  knew 
that  a  terrible  silence  lay  behind  her  ordinary 
comings  and  goings  and  all  her  fevered  activities. 
She  knew  that  a  message  had  been  brought  to  her 
early  that  morning,  that  the  boy  had  waited  for 
the  answer  for  an  unconscionable  time,  and  when, 
a  moment  after  his  departure,  Deb  had  come  inad 
vertently  upon  her,  she  had  seen  that  her  face  was 
stricken  as  with  death.  But  her  silence  was  per 
emptory,  repelling  all  questioning. 

Nevertheless,  she  had  answered  Lansing 
Wells's  announcement  of  his  engagement  over 
the  telephone  with  a  Spartan  nonchalance,  almost 
with  gayety,  the  voice  masking  what  the  face 
could  not  hide.  She  had  kept  an  appointment 
at  the  Old  People's  Home  to  read  to  blind  old 
Granny  Dowd,  and  had  kept  that  old  lady  in  a 
gale  of  merriment  with  her  usual  drolling.  The 
second  day  she  had  gone  on  a  promised  shopping 
expedition  into  Chinatown  with  Mabel  Goddard 
and  had  had  tea  at  the  St.  Francis,  and  only  the 
latter's  alert  watchfulness  for  a  sign  of  constraint 
over  Lansing  Wells's  engagement,  had  discovered 


66  FULFILLMENT 

an  intangible  blight  on  the  girl's  fair  radiance 
which,  she  had  to  acknowledge  to  her  hus 
band  later,  was  so  vague  she  may  have  imag 
ined  it. 

Judge  Harrison  had  come  in  that  evening  with 
three  or  four  of  his  brood  of  strapping  boys  and 
girls,  all  tennis  or  golf  enthusiasts  and  great 
chums  and  admirers  of  Gwen,  and  while  she  had 
smiled  and  answered  responsively  to  all  their  glad 
talk  of  outdoors,  Deb  had  seen  that  the  look  of 
crucifixion  had  never  once  died  out  of  her  dark 
ened  eyes. 

Yet,  sitting  there  in  the  mellow  lamplight,  the 
shadows  resting  in  the  gentle  comfort  of  the  har 
monious  old  room,  touching  it  with  an  abiding 
tranquillity,  Deborah  was  far  from  divining  what 
was  passing  with  persistent  inexorability  in  and 
out  of  the  brain  of  the  slim,  white  figure  sitting 
moveless  in  the  deep  chair,  the  slender  feet  crossed 
before  her,  one  elbow  on  the  chair-arm,  her  head 
sunk  in  her  hand,  her  eyes  plunged  into  the  open 
book  which  she  held  upon  her  knee.  But  she 
knew  that  the  shadow  Austin  Dane  had  cast  be 
tween  them  had  become  impenetrable  substance. 


THE  CROSS  ROADS  67 

For  almost  an  hour  she  had  sat  so,  and  she  had 
not  turned  a  page. 

But  she  was  reading, — reading  with  unseeing 
eyes  the  message  which  had  seared  itself  into  her 
life: 

:t  You  are  mine.  Nothing  you  can  do  or  say 
can  take  you  from  me.  You  gave  yourself  freely 
— I  intend  to  hold  you.  Don't  mistake  yourself, 
Gwen, — you  are  not  of  the  stuff  that  would  allow 
itself  to  become  the  victim  of  a  smug  virtue  that 
would  sacrifice  your  simple  purity  in  the  name  of 
its  relentless,  licensed  immorality  masquerading 
in  a  uniform  of  morality  made  to  fit  the  measure 
of  the  masses.  You  are  not  the  masses — one  does 
not  live  en  masse!  Be  true  to  your  individual, 
broader  vision — and  to  the  truth  of  our  abso 
lute  faith  in  each  other.  Only  you  can  annihilate 
that.  Do  we  need  a  verbal  oath  to  bind  us? 
What  is  such  an  oath  but  a  key  designed  to  lock 
one  in?  Are  we  children  that  we  need  such 
surveillance?  There  are  many  doors.  I  entered 
one  seven  years  ago  for  '  the  passing  passion  of  a 
lax  temperament/  as  you  moralists  phrase  it. 
And  the  State  and  the  Church,  in  all  solemnity, 


68  FULFILLMENT 

looked  upon  it  and  called  it  good,  and  being  told 
that  I  wished  to  stay,  locked  me  in.  Do  you  sup 
pose  that  for  one  moment  /  did  not  know  upon 
what  common,  shifting,  human  heritage  I  had 
entered  in?  Do  you  think  that  for  one  moment 
I  gave  it  the  ineffable  name  of  that  which  binds 
us,  my  mate,  my  inspiration,  my  treasure  beyond 
price ! 

"  But  then  came  the  child.  Gwen,  down 
through  your  girl's  heart,  I  reach  to  the  woman 
in  you : — he  is  a  weakling,  a  broken  flower.  Do 
you  count  me  any  the  less  your  lover  when  I  tell 
you  that  because  of  his  maimed  life,  I  hold  him 
immeasurably  dearer  than  if  he  did  not  need 
me, — that  she  holds  me  legally  bound  through 
thought  of  him, — that  for  his  sake  alone  I  am 
rushing  across  the  continent  today? 

;<  You  accuse  me  of  having  deceived  you.  In 
the  first  sweet  flush  of  the  beginning,  did  I  know 
to  what  limits  we  were  tending?  And,  later, 
weighing  the  consciousness  of  all  your  surround 
ing  influences  and  traditions  with  my  own  de 
mands,  I  decided  to  wait  until  I  had  probed  to 
your  deeper  potentialities.  And,  in  the  issue,  I 


THE  CROSS  ROADS  69 

know  I  have  not  over-estimated  you.  The  shock 
of  my  announcement  to  those  same  surrounding 
influences  and  traditions  which  withheld  me  in  the 
beginning,  is  past.  Look  out  now  with  your  own 
quiet,  brave  eyes.  Take  the  one  austere,  noble 
step,  and,  beautifully  and  simply  true,  step  out 
to  me. 

"  I  will  come  for  you — as  you  choose — or  will 
meet  you  at  the  ferry  in  time  for  the  eleven  o'clock 
train.    The  boy  will  wait  for  your  answer. 
"  Forever  yours, 

"AUSTIN  DANE." 

And  then  her  passionless  answer : 

"  I  have  no  love,  I  have  no  faith.  But  perhaps, 
that's  a  lie. 

"  But  this  is  true :  I  am  not  brave,  I  am  not 
true, — I  cannot  come. 

"I  am  only  «  GWEN  HEATH." 

Over  and  over,  strophe  and  antistrophe,  like  a 
Greek  chorus: 

"  Beautifully   and   simply  true — step   out   to 


70  FULFILLMENT 

And  then,  her  answer.  After  her  long  hour  of 
madness,  what  an  answer!  What 

"  I  have  something  to  tell  you,  Gwen." 

Promptly,  cunningly,  Gwen  wheeled  to  atten 
tion. 

"  Oh,  have  you  ?  What  ?  "  Dimly  she  knew 
that  away  back  in  another  life,  she  had  awaited 
this  moment.  But,  frivolously,  as  if  goaded  to  a 
befuddling  unconcern,  she  laughed. 

"  Awfully  bromidic,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  What?  "  Deb  raised  her  eyes  from  her  em 
broidering,  steadily  regarding  her. 

"  That.  Your  thread  going  in  and  out  without 
stopping.  Seems  as  if  you  could  go  on,  and  on, 
and  on,  till  kingdom  come.  Doesn't  it  feel 
tired  ?" 

"What?" 

"  Your  arm." 

"Why  should  it?" 

"  Just  because.     The  stupid  monotony  of  it." 

"  That's  why  it  doesn't." 

"  Heavens,  what  a  logic !  What  did  you  do 
downtown  all  day?" 

"  I  wasn't  downtown  all  day."     Deb  ran  her 


THE  CROSS  ROADS  71 

needle  through  her  work,  laid  it  with  a  gesture  of 
finality  in  her  lap,  faced  the  girl  squarely. 

Gwen  met  her  eyes  with  dulled,  yet  dawning, 
curiosity.  "  May  one  be  permitted  to  inquire 
whither  away  so  secretly?" 

"  I  was  at  work." 

"Slumming?" 

"  We  haven't  any  slums,  you  know." 

"  Provincial  we.     What  then?  " 

"  But  we  have  plenty  of  poverty  and  misery, 
and  my  work  is  there." 

"  You  mean  you've  been  up  at  the  Settlement 
with  Grace?"  Grace  Partridge,  Deb's  intimate 
friend,  was  head-worker  at  the  North  Beach  Set 
tlement  of  which  Deb  was  a  valued  non-resident 
assistant. 

"  No,  I  can't  afford  to  work  for  Grace  now, 
Gwen.  I  have  taken  a  position  with  the  Investi 
gating  Board  of  the  Associated  Charities  at 
seventy-five  dollars  a  month." 

She  who  thought  she  had  done  with  life,  felt 
life  bump  up  against  her  with  malicious  force. 
And,  for  the  first  time,  through  jaundiced  eyes, 
she  seemed  to  see  it  in  reality,  in  all  its  inherent 


72  FULFILLMENT 

ugliness,  and  the  spirit  of  its  ugliness  communi 
cated  itself  throughout  her  being,  finding  outlet 
finally  through  her  voice. 

"  What  are  you  saying?  " 

Deb  shivered.  The  voice,  the  look,  were  the 
first  inkling  she  had  had  of  the  changeling  who 
faced  her.  Her  heart  sank  with  foreboding  but 
she  struggled  to  maintain  the  old  relationship,  and 
smiled  winningly.  "  You  see,  dear,  what  father 
left  is  merely  nominal, — not  enough  for  our  daily 
bread,  to  say  nothing  of  butter  or  jam, — through 
an  unwise  investment  of  his — in  friendship." 

"  And  you  are  earning  your  living?  " 

"  Trying  to,"  said  Deb,  striving  to  ignore  the 
unrecognizable  revelation  before  her. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me?" 

"  I  thought  it  better  to  wait  till  I  had  every 
thing  arranged  and  well  started."  She  met  the 
harsh,  categorical  hold-up  with  grief-stricken 
bravery. 

"What  is  there?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"What  did  he  leave?" 

She,  Gwen,  could  speak  thus  of  the  father  she 


THE  CROSS  ROADS  73 

had  worshiped!  Deb's  face  set  sternly.  "  Hush. 
Don't  use  that  tone.  You  have  no  justification. 
Whatever  is,  is  inevitable,  and  not  to  be  judged 
by  you." 

"Oh,  fudge!"  the  girl  retorted  shortly. 
"  Why  isn't  it  to  be  judged  by  me?  Not  having 
been  insured  against  catastrophe  with  a  paying 
profession,  it  behooves  me  to  know  just  where 
I  stand — or,  rather,  fall,  doesn't  it?  Would  you 
mind  enlightening  me  ? "  She  ended  in  suave 
irony. 

"It  is  quickly  told,"  Deborah  answered  in 
blunt  reproof.  "  There  are  a  few  loose  hundreds 
which  I  have  saved  up.  The  life-insurance 
money  will  bear  interest  amounting  to  thirty-five 
dollars  a  month.  Then  there  is  the  house " 

The  girl  jumped  to  her  feet,  straight  as  a  dart, 

facing  her  sister.  "  You  wouldn't  dare "  she 

began  fiercely. 

"  To  sell  it  ?  To  let  it  ?  Never,  dear,  while  my 
strength  endures — unless  you  think  it  best."  She 
let  her  gaze  enfold  the  girl  with  that  unswerving 
assurance  which  affects  quivering  emotion  like  a 
prop. 


74  FULFILLMENT 

Gwen,  standing,  did  not  turn  her  head,  but 
Deborah,  reading  the  look  in  her  eyes,  knew  she 
was  envisaging  the  whole  room  in  detail,  the  low 
book-cases  upon  which  one  might  lean  as  upon 
a  friend's  shoulder  with  their  old  familiar  books, 
the  mellow  prints  on  the  mellow  walls — the  sun- 
steeped  Bacchus  of  Leonardo  over  the  mantel — 
the  worn,  storied  chairs,  the  piano  in  the  corner, 
the  deep,  cozy  sofa, — the  ghostly  memories  filling 
and  making  the  place  immortal  for  them — making 
it  sanctuary, — Gwen  not  so  much  changed  but 
this  loved  thing  was  part  of  her,  was  the  bridge 
across  which  Deb  might  reach  out  and  rescue  her 
old  self. 

"  No,"  she  went  on  cheerfully,  "  all  the  king's 
horses  and  all  the  king's  men  couldn't  drag  it 
from  us,  could  they?  And,  you  see,  it  won't  be 
necessary " 

"What  about  Martha?"  The  staccato  voice 
threw  her  back,  shattered  the  bridge  she  had  con 
jured  between  them. 

She  answered  to  the  point,  as  the  intolerant 
voice  commanded.  "  She  has  been  with  us  for 
twenty- five  years — she  was  here  before  you  came. 


THE  CROSS  ROADS  75 

She  begs  not  to  be  turned  out  of  her  only  home." 

There  was  a  brief  pause. 

"And   the  wages?" 

Icy-cold  now  as  her  interlocutor,  though  for 
different  reasons,  Deb  answered,  "  She  says  she 
wants  no  wages — that  she  has  saved  enough 
through  all  these  years  for  her  few  needs.  I 
told  her  we  could  afford  only  fifteen  dollars  a 
month.  We  finally  compromised — we  to  divide 
the  housework  with  her.  We  will  save  that  much 
on  the  washing." 

"Washing?  What  washing?  People  in  our 
circumstances  do  their  own  washing." 

A  faint  laugh  escaped  Deb — the  drastic  con 
clusion  was  so  characteristic  of  headlong  youth, 
so  absurd  in  the  face  of  the  beautiful,  pampered 
young  thing  proclaiming  it.  "  Not  necessarily," 
she  returned  lightly,  "if  one  knows  how  to  man 
age.  Though  we  may  not  be  able  to  afford  cakes 
and  ale,  we  won't  have  to  eat  dry  bread.  No 
need  for  melodrama.  With  the  thirty-five  dol 
lars  insurance  money,  rent  free, — taxes  and  fire- 
insurance  considered, — and  what  I  bring  in,  we 
ought  to  get  along  nicely." 


76  FULFILLMENT 

She  spoke  quietly,  looking  steadily  into  the 
eyes  glooming  from  the  pale,  graven  face.  A 
sound  came,  very  like  a  sob,  but  the  girl  did  not 
seem  to  have  stirred.  Still,  upon  that  slight  sus 
picion  of  softening,  Deb  leaned  nearer,  her  whole 
attitude  a  silent  yearning  to  draw  the  rigid  figure 
to  her.  "  Beggars  can't  be  choosers,  darling," 
she  added,  smiling  in  playful  tenderness. 

A  shrill  laugh  greeted  her  words,  startling  her 
roughly.  "  Thrue  for  you,  Deborah  Hathe," 
cried  the  girl  wildly  in  a  painful  travesty  of  her 
usual  merry  manner.  "  And  phwhat's  it  ye've 
chosen  for  this  beggar — which  rock-pile  for  her 
lily-white  hands?" 

Deb  answered  hurriedly,  with  an  attempt  at  a 
smile.  "  No  rock-pile  for  you,  Gwen.  Why 
should  there  be?  There'll  be  loads  for  both  of 
us,  and  I  shall  love  my  work,  dear." 

The  girl  stared  into  her  glowing  face,  a  sneer 
slowly  distorting  her  own.  "Indeed?"  she 
drawled  imperiously.  "  Don't  you  think  you  are 
taking  a  great  deal  upon  yourself  to  assume 
that?" 

Deb  was  quickly  on  her  feet  and  moving  with 


THE  CROSS  ROADS  77 

outstretched  hands  of  love  toward  the  combatting 
figure,  but  Gwen,  retreating  at  her  approach, 
found  her  chair,  drew  back  into  its  depths,  and 
put  out  an  arresting  hand.  Deb,  repulsed,  stood 
looking  down  at  her. 

"  Being  neither  crippled  nor  imbecile,"  Gwen 
continued  in  a  deliberately  level  tone,  "  I  desire 
to  be  treated  with  accordingly.  What  is  the  job 
you  have  decided  on  for  me  ?  " 

"  I  have  told  you  that  I  have  decided  on  noth 
ing  for  you." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  have.  Seeing  that  the  '  mani 
fest  destiny,'  to  which  you  played  such  excel 
lent  hand-maiden,  has  gone  glimmering,  it  is 
quite  inevitable  that  your  energetic  executive  pro 
pensity  has  not  lit  upon  some  other  accessible, 
refined,  unskilled  form  of  labor  for  this  refined, 
unskilled  human  dynamo,  long  before  this.  I  am 
all  attention." 

Deborah's  only  answer  was  the  stern  search 
ing  of  her  eyes. 

"  No  ? "  the  other  continued  caustically. 
"  Why,  I  have  a  much  better  opinion  of  my  abili 
ties  than  that.  To  begin  with  the  nearest :  think 


78  FULFILLMENT 

what  a  good  cook  I  am !  Oh,  I  don't  mean  to  be 
a  '  cook-lady  '  for  the  altogether — nothing  so 
heroic  for  me.  But  the  dainties, — the  entrees, 
desserts, — not  a  bad  idea  to  provide  people  with 
their  deserts — one  gets  them  so  seldom,  it  would 
be  almost  altruistic."  Fairly  launched  now,  she 
sailed  on,  ignoring  the  rebuking  form  before  her, 
gazing  beyond  her  with  dilated  eyes.  "  Or,  how 
about  playing  secretary  to  some  suddenly-elevated 
lady  whose  culture — I  think  the  much-abused 
word  is  culture,  isn't  it  ? — whose  culture  couldn't 
stand  the  sudden  high  social  altitudes  and  is 
still  in  rejuced  circumstances?  You  know  I 
write  a  stylish  hand  and  have  collected  an  in 
credible  job-lot  of  odds  and  ends  of  useful  in 
formation,  fanciful  and  otherwise.  Or,  come  to 
think  of  it, — books.  I  surely  ought  to  be  able 
to  do  something  with  books,  having  such  a  wide 
bowing  acquaintance  with  so  many.  Quite  like 
royalty  when  I  go  into  a  library — hat  off  at  every 
turn.  Why,  to  be  sure,  there's  the  Pub !  " 

She  waited  in  bitter  challenge  for  Deb's  de-. 
nunciating  echo,  but  no  echo  came. 

"  The  Pub,  may  it  please  you  to  know,"  she 


THE  CROSS  ROADS  79 

went  on  with  rapt  expression,  "  is  the  sporting 
name  for  the  Free  Public  Library.  One  passes  a 
civil-service  examination,  and  then  one  passes  in 
— forever.  At  least  that's  the  way  it  happened 
to  the  girl  around  the  corner.  I  can  see  her  at 
it  from  my  bedroom  window.  Every  morning, 
just  as  the  clock  strikes  eight,  she  opens  her  front 
door  and  comes  out  and  goes  down  the  steps. 
Rain  or  shine,  in  sickness  or  in  health,  every  day 
in  the  week,  every  week  in  the  month,  every 
month  in  the  year,  every  year  in  her  life,  till 
youth — I  mean  till  death  shall  them  part.  Sounds 
like  a  marriage  ceremony,  doesn't  it?  " 

With  a  step,  Deb  was  beside  her,  her  hands 
on  her  shoulders,  her  face  convulsed  with  grief. 
"  Gwen,"  she  murmured  hoarsely,  bending  down 
to  her,  "  Gwen,  don't  act  like  that — don't  take  it 
like  that !  Poverty's  nothing — it's  only  what  you 
do  with  it — what  you  let  it  do  to  you — that 
counts.  You " 

But  Gwen  flung  her  off.  "  Bosh !  "  she  flashed. 
"  This  isn't  Sunday-school,  this  is  the  everyday 
dem'd  grind  of  things, — this  is  reality  with  the 
halo  off.  Don't  be  flowery,  Deborah." 


8o  FULFILLMENT 

Then  Deb  saw  the  hideous  distortion  which 
had  befallen  her  treasure,  and  she  fell  upon  her 
knees.  She  wound  her  arms  tight  about  the 
fighting  figure  and  held  her  close  with  desperate 
strength.  She  laid  her  dark  head  upon  the  golden 
one,  drew  the  defiant  face  to  hers,  "  poored " 
its  deathly  loveliness,  smoothed  the  wonderful 
hair,  patted  the  slender  "  lily  hands,"  calling  her 
all  the  little  old  endearing  names  welling  madly 
from  the  depths  of  her  distraught  love.  "  Hush, 
my  darling,  hush.  Old  Debbins  is  here.  Old 
Debbins  is  always  here.  Tell  it  all  to  Deb, 
precious.  Deb's  little  world,  Deb's  little  sun 
beam  ! "  She  could  hear  the  sobs  rending  the 
slight  body  held  so  close,  and  she  plunged  wildly 
back  into  a  sweetness  long  past. — "  Tell  it  all  to 
Debbins — what's  happened  to  mother  Deb's 
baby?" 

One  word,  and  the  charm  was  lost.  The  dry, 
convulsive  sobbing  ceased  abruptly.  Gwen  strug 
gled  from  the  pleading  arms,  thrusting  her  away. 

"  Happened !  "  she  echoed  harshly,  getting  to 
her  feet  and  facing  Deborah  arrogantly.  "  Hap 
pened!  What  do  you  suppose  has  happened? 


THE  CROSS  ROADS  81 

One  would  think  I  had  committed  some  crime. 
What  are  you  talking  about?  " 

Dumfounded,  Deborah  stared  into  the  frus 
trating  eyes  commanding  her,  and  could  only 
shake  her  head  in  negation. 

"  No,  I  don't  suppose  you  do  know,"  came  with 
a  short,  sharp  laugh.  "  And  as  to  mothers, — 
you  know,  when  all's  said  and  done,  you  really 
aren't  my  mother,  are  you?  Good-night."  The 
last  word  was  carelessly  flung. 

Deborah,  blinded  by  the  stinging,  unaccount 
able  blow  of  revolt,  stood  bereft. 


CHAPTER  VI 
DERELICT 

HAVING  thus  ruthlessly  shattered  her  icons, 
Gwen  found  her  way  to  her  room  through  a  fan 
fare  of  emotions.  Led  by  the  spirit  of  anarchy 
seething  within  her,  she  would  have  encountered 
any  obstacle  in  her  path  with  a  mad  thirst  for 
annihilation,  but  only  the  rugs  presented  them 
selves  to  her  trampling  feet  and,  as  they  lay 
smooth,  she  could  not  kick  them  out  of  her  path, 
and  she  reached  her  haven  unconscious  of  move 
ment. 

Once  there,  an  intense  quiet  took  her.  She 
knew  the  hideous  thing  she  had  done  and  she 
looked  upon  it  with  hardened  indifference,  the 
while  she  mechanically  prepared  for  bed  as  if 
driven  by  a  hidden,  sardonic  demon.  Habit  had 
her  in  hand.  She  moved  from  bedroom  to  bath 
room,  from  bathroom  to  bedroom,  with  her  ac 
customed  precision,  stood  before  her  dressing- 

82 


DERELICT  83 

table,  shook  down  her  shimmering,  silken  mane, 
divided  it,  plaiting  it  loosely  before  her  shoulders 
whence  it  fell  in  two  soft,  heavy  ropes  to  her 
knees,  all  without  volition,  sight,  or  direc 
tion. 

She  turned  off  the  light  and  got  into  bed  ob 
livious  of  its  downy  peacefulness.  She  lay  back, 
her  hands  clasped  beneath  her  head,  straight  and 
motionless,  a  breathless  figure  of  immobility. 
The  lavender-sweetness  of  her  nest,  the  dainty, 
ordered  luxury  with  which  love  had  always  man 
aged  to  surround  her,  enfolded  her  unrecognized. 
Through  the  deep,  wide-open  window  which 
gave  upon  the  garden  came  the  breath  of  mingled 
roses,  sweet-peas,  and  mignonette,  and  the  pale, 
quiet  moonlight  came  in  with  it.  It  transfigured 
the  fine  scrim  of  the  curtains  into  silken  cloth  of 
gold,  laid  its  long,  golden  fingers  along  the  chintz 
of  the  chairs,  fell  in  pools  of  liquid  gold  upon  the 
soft  carpet,  climbed  up  and  over  the  tiny  Dresden 
flowers  of  the  wall,  transmuting  them  into  sheaves 
of  gold,  and  arrived  suddenly  upon  a  picture — 
the  only  one  upon  the  walls — where  it  rested  in 
halo. 


84  FULFILLMENT 

It  was  a  portrait  of  Deborah  Heath,  hung 
above  the  low  white  mantel  and  just  facing  the 
low  mahogany  bed  in  which  lay  the  statue  of 
slender  young  womanhood.  Years  before,  when 
Deborah  had  surprised  her  with  it,  she  had  torn 
off  all  other  prints  and  photographs  in  a  frenzy 
of  joy,  and  hung  it  there  in  its  umber  tones  and 
frame,  to  dominate  the  room.  And  now  the 
moonlit,  tender,  serene  face,  the  moonlit,  folded, 
serene  hands  did  dominate  the  room, — but  not 
the  still  figure  upon  the  bed. 

Yet  it  had  dominated  her  four  nights  before, 
relentlessly.  She  had  come  in  from  her  cataclysm, 
locking  the  door  between  herself  and  all  the 
world, — but  that  from  which  she  could  not  sepa 
rate  herself  had  glided  in  with  her. 

It  had  waited,  a  shadowy  presence,  there  in 
the  dark  oval  frame  above  the  mantel,  till  the 
crouching  figure  in  the  big  chintz  chair  had  raised 
streaming  eyes  and  given  forth  a  low,  bitter, 
laughing  moan  as  if  at  grips  with  it,  and  the 
spiritual  struggle  had  gone  on,  formless  yet  elo 
quent,  intangible  yet  abiding, — like  carven 
thought : 


DERELICT  85 

"  You,  with  your  judgment  face,  what  do  you 
know  about  it!  " 

"  Everything." 

"  Pharisee  that  you  are,  snug  and  smug  in 
your  emasculated  self-righteousness,  your  moral 
ity  is  the  most  heartless  immorality  under  the 
sun." 

"  My  morality  is  far-seeing  love." 

"  Love  that  denies,  and  scourges,  and  wrecks !  " 

"  Saves." 

"  Saves !    From  happiness." 

"  From  despair." 

''  You  have  given  me  despair.    I  hate  you." 

"  Hate  me." 

'  You  stand  between  me  and  my  love." 

"  Between  you  and  sin." 

"  Sin!  Sin!  What  is  sin?  Who  are  you  to 
know?" 

"  I  know  that  lawlessness  is  sin." 

"  There  is  no  law  in  love." 

"  There  is  law  for  love." 

"Ho!     Manacles." 

"  Marriage.  The  symbol,  the  ideal,  that  stands 
for  responsibility,  that  stands  for  self-mastery — 


86  FULFILLMENT 

the  stuff  of  which  heroes  are  made — the  stuff 
that  will  not  add  to  the  world's  evil." 

"  What  has  that  to  do  with  us?  " 

"  Love  that  harms  is  not  love." 

"  I  know  of  no  harm." 

"  He  knows." 

"  You  lie.    His  love  for  me  is  marriage." 

"  He  is  only  a  man." 

"  I  deny  your  doubt.  And,  if  it  could  be  true, 
at  least  I  shall  have  had  the  perfect  golden  in 
terim,  the  woman's  glory,  that  is  beyond  count 
of  time  or  price!  " 

"  Be  still." 

"  But  I  deny  your  doubt.  Our  love  is  death 
less." 

"  He  has  one  wife  and " 

"  Your  *  marriage '  could  not  make  her  his 
mate." 

"  But  her  child  could — somewhat.  As  your 
mating  could — somewhat.  This  man  belongs  to 
another.  I  have  taught  you,  '  Thou  shalt  not 
steal.'  " 

"He  is  mine!" 

"  He  is  a  married  man.    What  have  you  to  do 


DERELICT  87 

with  a  married  man  ?  What  has  a  married  man 
to  do  with  you  ?  " 

She  had  crouched,  crouched  away  from  the 
pursuing,  judging  face,  while  desperate  love 
strained  in  mad  futility  at  the  tyrannic  leash  of 
all  her  past.  So  the  night  had  passed,  and  in  the 
early  morning  she  had  sent  her  inevitable  answer 
to  Austin  Dane. 

Now,  lying  there,  motionless,  she  envisaged  the 
new  twist  in  the  path  just  before  her.  She  had 
tasted  life  and  it  was  bitter  in  her  mouth  with  a 
terrible  bitterness;  now,  in  the  hard,  cold  terms 
of  reason,  one  word  described  what  faced  her: 

Sordid. 

Gray,  grizzly,  paralyzing,  it  filled  the  room. 

She  let  it  take  her,  let  it  pit  the  face  of  her 
youth  with  its  remorseless  needle,  bringing  other 
cinematographic  words  in  its  wake: 

Cheap. 

Shabby. 

Can't-have-it. 

Work. 

Grind. 

Ingratiate. 


88  FULFILLMENT 

Grateful. 

Kind. 

Thank  you — 

The  reel  paused. 

Kind, — people  would  be  kind  to  her,  Gwen 
Heath !  Motionless,  she  contemplated  it.  And 
presently  the  waxen  lids  were  slowly  raised,  the 
nostrils  dilated,  the  blood  beat  furiously  in  her 
pulses,  she  sprang  to  a  sitting  posture,  digging 
her  clenched  hand  into  the  soft  pillow.  She 
breathed  unevenly  as  though  she  had  been  run 
ning.  "  Thank  you !  "  smirking,  perhaps, 

servilely, — for  what?  Food  and  drink.  She 
thrust  back  the  clinging  gold  of  her  hair,  staring 
at  her  own  caricature  of  the  "  dignity  "  of  labor. 
Dignity?  The  goad  of  necessity,  yes.  For  others 
— perhaps, — Jean,  Grace,  Deborah, — Deborah  in 
ured  to  sacrifice,  seeking  it  as  a  miser  his  priva 
tions.  But  she,  Gwen,  was  different — she  was 
young — she 

The  devastating  avalanche  of  memory  swept 
over  her,  leaving  ruin  in  her  soul.  Between  her 
and  joy  lay  a  dark  morass  over  which  she  could 
not  stir.  She  felt  herself  grown  hollow-eyed, 


DERELICT  89 

furrowed  with  grief  and  years But  suddenly 

she  flung  up  her  head,  bringing  down  both  fists 
full  force  upon  the  coverlet.  "  I  won't,"  youth 
fought  with  the  Furies,  "  I  won't !  " 

And  straightway  her  slender  feet  touched  the 
carpet.  Without  taking  thought,  as  the  needle 
to  the  magnet,  with  a  touch  of  the  push-button, 
she  turned  about  in  the  glow  of  the  pink-shaded 
light,  and  looked  into  her  mirror. 

(Nature,  at  her  ancient,  cunning  maneuvers, 
chuckled  exultantly,  looking  over  her  shoulder.) 

Gwendolen  Heath  work?  The  preposterous- 
ness  of  the  assumption  was  answered. 

Beauty  triumphed.  Over  the  muted  joy,  the 
hollow  eyes,  the  furrows  of  her  agonizing,  it 
reigned  resplendent — they  could  not  touch  it. 

"  Queer  thing,  that,"  thought  the  scarred  soul, 
gazing  in  amazement  at  the  mockery  of  its  un 
touched  body. 

Her  appraising  eye  passed  over  it  coolly,  de 
tached,  impersonal,  noting  the  perfection  of  it  all, 
from  her  exquisite  head  and  shoulders  down  to 
her  dainty  feet. 

Of  course. 


90  FULFILLMENT 

What  a  fool  she  had  been  to  get  into  such  a 
panic.  There  was  her  "  position  "  all  mapped  out 
for  her — "  manifest  destiny,"  as  Deb  had  im 
plied,  even  that  night. 

She  would  "  get  married,"  as  nine  girls  out  of 
ten  "  get  married," — for  position,  for  a  home, 
for  independence.  Nine  girls  out  of  ten  enter 
ing  into  such  contracts  every  day.  The  tenth? 
The  exception  which  proves  the  rule. 

Why  not?  Nine  marriages  out  of  those  ten 
"  turn  out  well,"  and  the  tenth  may  prove  to  be 
that  exceptional  one,  the  love-match.  Why  not? 
Let  the  Ellen  Keys  fulminate  on  of  ideals,  mates, 
harmonies,  heights, — they  only  mouth  dreams. 
Meanwhile  there  is — life.  Ideals?  Deals. 
Mates?  Men.  Harmonies?  Disharmonies. 
Heights?  Levels.— Your  "C  major,"  Robert 
Browning,  eh? 

She  appraised  steadily.  Parasite?  Oh,  well, 
if  one  liked  the  term — it  had  a  modish  ring! 
There  was  another,  if  one  was  so  minded,  not 
nearly  so  nice,  ugly  in  fact, — but  names  never 
did  sinner  or  saint  a  thing.  Custom  was  just 
as  cunning  a  godmother,  and  custom  called  it 


DERELICT  91 

"  marriage."  Good  romantic  name,  that,  mid- 
Victorian,  moral.  One  sits  in  The  Seats  of  the 
Mighty 

The  Man?  Vaguely  she  had  mentally  desig 
nated  him,  just  glancing  over  to  him  in  his  place 
of  waiting,  as  it  were,  against  the  wall.  He 
would  do, — nice  fellow,  nice  to  look  at, — Oil 
lands, — Mabel  had  told  her  enough  about  that, — 
nothing  special  to  cavil  at,  and — she  had  only  to 
smile !  She  glanced  carelessly  away. 

(But  Nature,  at  her  ancient  maneuvers,  hugged 
herself  in  huge  content.) 

Ugh!  It  was  freezing  standing  there  in  her 
night-dress.  She  turned  off  the  light,  jumped 
into  bed,  and  snuggled  down  for  warmth.  She 
shivered  from  head  to  foot.  Words  she  had  read 
subconsciously  that  evening  in  the  paper  flashed 
across  her  peculiar,  phrase-retentive  mem 
ory: 

"  The  New  York  Vice  Committee's  report  on 
the  most  important  causes  of  immorality  among 
working  girls,  finds  them  to  be  '  weakness  of  mind 
and  will,  individual  temperament,  lack  of  indus 
trial  efficiency,  idleness,  unwillingness  to  accept 


92  FULFILLMENT 

available  employment,  love  of  luxury  and  of 
pleasure ' ' 

With  a  wild  sort  of  sob,  she  burrowed  her  head 
in  her  pillow  as  if  to  shut  out  the  rush  of  words. 
What  had  that  to  do  with  her  ? 

Racking  sobs  took  her,  rending  the  delicate 
frame  and  ending  in  long,  dreary,  hopeless  weep 
ing.  But  through  the  blinding  mist  of  tears  one 
name  found  its  way,  like  a  kiss  to  her  lips.  So 
hushed,  she  finally  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  KNIGHT 

"  FOR  instance,"  Leland  explained  succinctly, 
flicking  the  ash  from  his  own  cigarette  and  nod 
ding  toward  his  cousin's,  "  she  wouldn't  do  that." 
And  he  met  with  a  steady  stare  both  her  merry 
laugh  and  the  cloud  of  fragrant  smoke  she  blew 
into  his  face. 

"  Because  she  has  never  tried,  silly,  and  doesn't 
know  what  she's  missing,  like  all  the  others  who 
are  afraid  to  endanger  their  femininity.  Look 
at  me!" 

"  I'm  looking."  He  was  regarding,  with  the 
impersonal  smile  of  long  intimacy,  her  provoca 
tive  piquancy,  the  charm  of  her  dark  face  with 
its  tip-tilted  little  nose  and  challenging,  uplifted 
chin  as,  with  eyes  half-closed  against  the  hazy 
spirals  she  was  making,  she  continued,  daintily 
and  deliberately,  to  smoke  her  cigarette. 

93 


94  FULFILLMENT 

They  had  come  in  from  dinner,  leaving  Frank 
Goddard  and  Laurence  Martin  to  their  cigars 
and  stories,  and  had  been  enjoying  a  desultory 
chat  about  nothing  in  particular  but  full  of  pleas 
ant  understanding,  until  Mabel  suddenly  pounced 
upon  him  by  asking  irrelevantly,  what  men  found 
so  "  different "  about  Gwen  Heath  that  made 
them  employ  a  different  tone  in  speaking  of  her. 
The  question  was  born  of  a  sudden  recollection 
of  Martin's  inquiry,  upon  arriving,  as  to  whether 
she  expected  Gwen  that  evening.  She  knew  she 
was  disturbing  Leland's  comfortable  ease  with 
her  enigma,  but  she  also  knew  that  he  enjoyed 
nothing  more  than  that  tantalizing  discomfort. 
They  had  been  sort  of  sentimental  sweethearts 
from  their  early  teens  up  to  the  time  of  Mabel's 
marriage,  and  although,  in  her  drawing-room, 
he  no  longer  bore  with  him  the  romantic  lure 
of  those  old  "  cowboy  "  days  on  the  ranch  when, 
boy  and  girl  together,  they  had  ranged  the  coun 
try  in  long,  dare-devil  rides,  he  still  carried  in 
the  well-knit  energy  of  his  supple  length,  in  the 
swift  snap  of  the  blood  under  his  thin  olive  cheek 
and  the  alert  glow  of  his  dark  eyes,  enough  of 


THE  KNIGHT  95 

the  remembered  grace  of  his  boyhood  in  those 
days  of  freedom  in  the  open,  to  keep  him  inex 
pressibly  dear  to  her.  And  if,  in  seeming  incon 
sistency,  she  delighted  to  tease  him  about  Gwen 
Heath,  it  was  because  she  felt  that  the  consum 
mation  he  so  much  desired  would  never  be  more 
than  a  sweet  mirage. 

"Well?"  she  jogged  his  attention. 

"Well,  what?" 

"  What  about  my  femininity  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that."  He  made  an  effort  toward  socia 
bility.  "  That's  stylish,  like  the  rest  of  you.  It's 
turned  feministic." 

She  returned  him  a  laughing  grimace,  dropped 
her  half -smoked  cigarette,  and  took  another. 
"  That's  a  compliment,  though  you  don't  know 
it."  She  bent  over  the  tiny  flame  of  the  spirit- 
lamp.  "  And  as  to  style,  Gwen's  an  out-of-date 
classic." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  " 

"  I  mean  she  sticks  to  simon-pure  rule  and  line, 
in  spite  of  her  trashy  leanings." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  she  has  trashy  lean- 
ings?" 


96  FULFILLMENT 

"  I  mean  human,  stupid !  She's  the  humanest 
human  I  know." 

Leland  accepted  this  according  to  his  own  light. 
"Have  you  seen  her  lately?"  he  catechized. 

"  I  had  tea  with  her  a  few  days  ago." 

-How— is  she?" 

"  You  mean,"  returned  Mabel  with  a  canny 
smile,  "  how  is  she  taking  Lansing  Wells's  en 
gagement." 

He  darted  an  angry  look  at  her. 

"  Yes,  you  do,  George.  Don't  pretend  to  me. 
Everybody's  wondering." 

"  Everybody  be  damned !  " 

u  Tut-tut.  These  aren't  feudal  days,  my 
lord, — you  can't  keep  her  in  a  keep  from  people's 
observation.  Even  I  had  my  vulgar  curiosity 
about  it.  You  know  no  girl  lets  a  multi-million 
proposition  slip  through  her  fingers  without  a 
qualm,  even  if  she  isn't  madly  in  love  with  the 
promoter." 

"  Gwen  Heath  would — under  that  condition." 

"  Dear  boy,  do  you  belong  to  the  twentieth  cen 
tury?" 

"  To  the  twentieth  century — unlimited,  yes." 


THE  KNIGHT  97 

"  Visionary!  "  she  scoffed;  and  waited  for  his 
further  cross-questioning,  but  only  an  impatient 
turning  from  her  in  his  chair  and  a  flinging  of 
one  knee  over  the  other  answered  her. 

"  She  wasn't  looking — herself,  George,"  she 
vouchsafed  him,  musingly. 

He  bit  at  the  softly  spoken  bait  as  she  had 
expected,  turning,  in  quick  concern,  to  look  at 
her. 

"  It  wasn't  her  health.  She  looked  as  if — 
something — way  back  in  her  soul — had  gone 
from  her." 

"  You  women  with  your  imagination !  "  But 
his  heart  sank. 

"  We  call  it  intuition." 

"  So  you  think " 

"  No,  it  wasn't  Lansing  Wells." 

"  How  can  you  be  sure  of  that — with  your 
skeptical  valuations?"  He  spoke  brusquely. 

"  Intuition  again — plus  a  college  education  in 
the  way  of  a  maid  with  a  man.  She  had  no 
reserves  in  speaking  of  him." 

"  You  can't  be  sure  of  that." 

"  I  can.    I  know  all  the  subterfuges  and  subtle- 


98  FULFILLMENT 

ties.  Besides,  something  I  have  heard  since, 
makes  me  think  it  was  that." 

"What?" 

"  I  heard  that  Professor  Heath  left  such  a 
deplorably  small  estate  that  it  has  become  abso 
lutely  and  urgently  necessary  for  Deborah  to  take 
a  paying  position  with  the  Associated  Charities." 

She  saw  the  blood  mount  darkly  up  to  his 
brow,  he  almost  rose  from  his  seat,  but  subsided, 
holding  on  to  the  arms  of  his  chair,  the  knight 
in  him  checked  by  the  rein  of  convention. 

Mabel,  in  her  turn,  experienced  a  queer  little 
tightening  about  the  heart.  "  You  can't  do  any 
thing  about  that,"  she  hastened  to  say.  "  They're 
as  proud  as  Lucifer." 

"  Why  shouldn't  they  be?  "  he  retorted  hotly. 
"  They  haven't  changed." 

"  No,  but  their  fortunes  have.  Don't  be 
quixotic,  George." 

"  You're  all  such  a  pack  of  snobs !  " 

"  Who's  '  you/  pray?  In  your  defense  of  one 
you  needn't  commit  wholesale  injustice.  This 
isn't  war." 

"  Pshaw,  Mabel,"  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  his 


THE  KNIGHT  99 

hands  thrusting  deep  into  his  pockets  as  he  took 
a  futile  stride  across  the  room.  "  I  know  the 
social  view-point.  Everybody  is  identified  with 
his  bank  account." 

"  You  just  damned  *  everybody,'  so  what  dif 
ference  can  that  make?  Besides,  I'm  not 
everybody — I'm  Gwen  Heath's  most  intimate 
friend." 

He  veered  upon  her  at  that,  the  glow  back  in 
his  eyes,  when  the  door  opened  and  Goddard  and 
Martin  came  in,  clamoring  for  bridge. 

Throughout  the  game  Mabel  watched  his  con 
centration  speculatively.  But  the  stern  line  of 
his  firm  lips  gave  her  no  clue  to  the  whereabouts 
of  his  thoughts. 

Declining  Martin's  invitation  to  share  his  taxi 
later,  Leland  walked  homeward,  glad  of  the  soli 
tude  in  the  bracing,  muffling  fog,  and  the  long 
swing  across  the  city  to  his  downtown  hotel.  He 
welcomed  the  silent  plunge  in  the  dark  as  an 
outlet  to  the  impulses  seething  within  him. 

"  You  can't  do  anything  about  that,"  Mabel  had 
said  sharply.  Why  couldn't  he?  He,  with  his 
unfettered  affluence  ready  to  pour  into  her  lap! 


ioo  FULFILLMENT 

He  chafed  at  the  social  bit.  "  Absolutely  and 
urgently  necessary."  How  to  protect  her  from 
the  pinch  of  necessity?  How  to  keep  her  in  the 
soft,  sheltered  places  where  she  had  always  be 
longed,  where  she,  of  all  precious  possessions,  of 
a  right,  belonged!  The  thought  of  her  beauty, 
of  her  dainty,  high  refinements,  swept  across 
his  turmoil  like  a  swift  pain,  like  a  call  to  all  the 
chivalry  warring  within  him  for  her.  And  the 
personal  claim  rose  in  a  flood  of  color  up  to  his 
brow,  burning  unseen  in  the  dark. 

Of  course  there  was  only  one  way,  and  of 
course,  in  his  humility,  the  preposterousness  of 
the  suggestion  caught  at  his  breath.  And  yet — 

Lansing  Wells  out  of  the  way The  spirit 

of  adventure  took  him,  love's  daring-do  for  the 
sake  of  the  loved  one  pricking  the  egoism  with 
star-points.  If  she  would  play  the  game,  he 
would  take  the  risks !  Risks,  with  her  for  prize ! 
— And  then,  into  the  splendor  of  his  high  em 
prise,  rushed  the  knowledge  of  her  careless  indif 
ference  to  him,  and  he  stopped  stock-still  where 
he  was,  fallen  to  earth. 

Cars  sped  by,  mysteriously,  through  the  fog,  as 


THE  KNIGKT  101 

if  to  far  goals.  He  happened  to  be  passing  one 
of  the  several  harsh  reminders  of  the  historic  dis 
aster  of  nineteen-six — an  empty  lot  on  Sutter 
Street,  halfway  to  town.  About  him  hummed  the 
solid,  splendid  city,  builded  in  bravery  over  the 
ashes  of  a  myriad  hopes.  Here  the  narrow,  dark 
emptiness  stood  suddenly  like  an  arrestive  finger, 
bidding  men  remember.  Strangely  enough  it 
hushed  the  clamor  of  sinking  hope  in  his  breast, 
telling  him  that  life  held  for  her  sons  other, 
greater  heroisms  than  defeated  loves,  borne,  too, 
in  silence  and  victory.  He  walked  on,  quieted  by 
the  wider  vision,  not  vanquished,  the  drums  of 
youth  still  marking  time  distinctly,  retreating,  ad 
vancing,  the  dauntless  "  drums  of  the  fore  and 
aft." 

He  turned  into  the  electric  brilliancy  of  Powell 
Street.  The  urge  of  the  city  of  joy  swayed  about 
him  with  its  irresistible  message  of  well-being 
penetrating  through  its  murmurs — its  long- 
drawn-out  honkings  and  clangings  of  warning  to 
the  surging,  diverging,  appearing,  disappearing 
throngs  and  solitaries  bent  upon  their  thousand 
pleasures  beyond  the  portals  of  imagination,  and 


102  FULFILLMENT 

Leland  passed  into  the  softly  effulgent  foyer  of 
his  hotel,  the  drums  of  youth  still  steadily  beat 
ing. 

So  it  was  that  he  telephoned  to  Gwen  the  next 
evening,  and  her  quiet,  "  I'll  be  glad  to  see  you," 
should  have  prepared  him  for  her  quiet  mood  and 
aspect. 

But  it  utterly  failed  to  reconcile  him  to  the  ob 
vious  change  in  her  reception  and  attitude  toward 
him.  Used  to  the  witchery  of  her  teasing  denial 
of  him,  her  pensive  pauses  and  abruptnesses  dis 
turbed  and  irked  him.  Never  a  leader  in  con 
verse,  the  effort  to  keep  the  interchange  of 
comment  within  the  bounds  of  conversation  was 
so  unusual  in  his  experience  of  her,  that  the  strain 
finally  snapped,  and  he  sat  doggedly  waiting  for 
her  to  make  some  response. 

He  could  not  know  that  Gwen,  face  to  face 
with  her  opportunity  to  use  the  crucial  "  smile  " 
which  was  to  solve  her  problem  of  the  future, 
could  no  more  drag  it  to  her  countenance  than 
she  could  smoke  cigarettes, — in  the  test  it  went 
against  the  grain  of  all  her  nature  and  sincerities. 
So,  at  the  extreme  of  revolt  against  her  own 


THE  KNIGHT  103 

cool-headed,  well-laid  plans,  she  sat,  instead,  quite 
smileless  and  let  the  silence  take  its  course. 

They  were  in  the  small  den  across  from  the 
library,  once  her  father's  sanctum  sanctorum,  and 
she  sat  in  the  corner  of  the  old  green  rep  sofa,  a 
slim,  straight,  girlish  figure,  her  hands  crossed 
in  her  lap,  her  face  gravely  brooding  above  the 
shadow  of  her  black  gown. 

The  silence  grew  unbearable.  Jumping  to  his 
feet,  he  came  and  stood  before  her,  and  she 
looked  reflectively  up  at  him  in  his  sudden  acces 
sion  of  assertiveness.  What  a  nice,  quaint  boy 
he  was,  anyway,  with  that  light  in  his  eyes  over 
which  Deb  had  rhapsodized.  She  wondered,  pas 
sively,  how  he  was  going  to  say  what,  after  all, 
she  could  not  prevent  him  from  saying. 

"  I  know  all  about  it,  Gwen."  He  had  never 
before  addressed  her  so,  but  she  had  no  cog 
nizance  of  the  slip  in  the  shock  of  his  announce 
ment  which  could  mean  only  one  thing  to  her — 
her  dead  romance.  She  gazed  at  him  lifelessly, 
all  the  color  driven  from  her  face. 

"  How  can  you  know?  "  she  managed  to  ask. 

"  Mabel  told  me." 


104  FULFILLMENT 

"  Mabel?    She  knows  nothing." 

"  She  heard  it, — I  don't  know  where, — about 
your  sister's  position." 

The  color  crept  back,  rosily,  shamedly,  gladly, 
up  to  the  tips  of  the  little  ears  hidden  under  the 
soft,  burnished  hair.  She  drew  in  a  long  breath 
of  relief.  "  Oh,"  for  the  moment  her  pretty 
voice  had  found  its  silver  edge.  "  Yes,  Deb  was 
fortunate  in  finding  just  what  she  wanted."  Her 
eyes  looked  quietly  up  at  him — in  beautiful  brav 
ery,  he  thought. 

"  Gwen ,"  he  began  in  blind  impulse,  and 

paused  before  the  mad  leap.  "  All  that  I  am,  all 
that  I  have — is  yours,  to  do  with  what  you  want." 

A  shadow  came  over  the  eyes  regarding  him, 
her  lips  set  proudly,  forbidding  him  further. 

He  drove  on  resistlessly.  "  Won't  you  let 

me Won't  you  marry  me,  Gwen, — and  get 

out  of  it  ?  "  In  the  breathless  pause  he  thought 
he  could  hear  his  own  heart  pounding  out  its 
astonishment  at  his  speech. 

She  smiled  in  dim  wistfulness.  "  No,  Co- 
phetua,  I  won't,"  she  said  gently,  and  could  have 
wept  over  her  own  pusillanimity. 


THE  KNIGHT  105 

"Why  won't  you?" 

"  For  the  best  reason  in  the  world." 

"  You  mean,"  he  said,  undaunted,  his  direct 
gaze  bearing  down  upon  her  defenses,  "  that  you 
don't  love  me.  I'm  willing  to  take  chances, 
Gwen." 

The  smile  had  quite  departed  from  her  eyes 
and  lips.  "  That's  plunging,  George,"  she  said 
dully,  and,  in  the  saying  of  it,  the  old  Gwen,  the 
Gwen  of  ideals  and  sincerities  who  had  flown 
back  to  her  in  the  hour  of  her  peril,  again  sepa 
rated  from  her  as  quietly  as  fell  her  quiet  words. 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  he  said  very  low.  "  You 
see,  I'll  stake  everything  on  you,  my  darling." 

She  had  not  repulsed  his  presumption!  She 
had  not  even  laughed  it  aside !  In  the  incredible 
wonder  of  it,  he  was  on  his  knees  before  her, 
body  and  soul,  and  laid  his  hands  on  hers,  crush 
ing  them  in  his  tense  grip. 

She  had  closed  her  eyes  against  his  endear 
ment,  she  opened  them  at  his  touch.  "  Please, 
don't, — you  hurt  me,"  she  said  passionately,  and 
his  hold  slackened  but  he  did  not  let  the  exquisite 
hands  out  of  his  firm  keeping. 


io6  FULFILLMENT 

"  Marry  me  now,  Gwen/'  he  implored  in  reck 
less  intoxication. 

"  Let  go  my  hands." 

"  No.  Answer  me  first.  When  will  you  marry 
me?" 

"  Never.    I  hate  you." 

He  did  not  realize  how  near,  at  that  moment, 
her  desperate  words  were  to  the  truth.  He  gave 
them  no  credence,  in  fact,  ignored  them  com 
pletely  save  as  an  expression  of  resentment 
against  his  hold. 

"  No,  you  don't,"  he  said  with  an  odd  cer 
tainty  which  caught  her  curiosity.  "  And  that 
has  nothing  to  do  with  my  question."  He  caught 
his  breath.  "  Listen,  Gwen.  Shall  we  run  off  to 
morrow  and  get  married  ?  " 

She  gave  him  a  quick  look  of  incredulity.  He 
meant  it.  The  spirit  of  adventure  was  at  gallop 
within  him  and  caught  her  up  before  him.  Reck 
lessly,  her  youth  answered  to  his.  It  flashed 
through  her  that  he  had  found  the  only  way  in 
which  she  ever  could  marry  him.  It  would 
avoid  the  hateful  interim  of  courtship.  It  would 
be  a  sort  of  lark! 


THE  KNIGHT  107 

"  But "  she  laughed  confusedly  with  bril 
liant  eyes. 

He  seized  her  hesitancy,  as  it  were,  in  his  arms. 
"  There  are  no  buts,"  he  said,  incoherently  clear. 
"  Leave  it  all  to  me.  Tomorrow  morning,  the 
license, — at  any  hour, — you'll  have  to  come  with 
me,  you  know, — then  a  Justice, — and  in  the  after 
noon,  off  to  Europe.  Say  yes  this  minute, 
Gwen!" 

His  impetuosity  carried  her  off  her  feet. 
Everything  was  blurred  to  her  perceptions. 

"  Not  tomorrow, — the  day  after,  if  you 

think "  she  began,  scarcely  knowing  that  she 

spoke,  but  he  saved  her  from  committing  her 
self. 

"Think?  No,  we  won't  think.  It's  settled 
then,  the  day  after  tomorrow.  Kiss  me,  Gwen." 

She  drew  back  sharply  from  the  tug  on  her 
wrists,  from  his  importunate  tone,  from  his 
flushed,  adoring  face.  "  Don't,"  she  said  harshly. 
"  You  know  I  won't  stand  that." 

He  eyed  her  doubtfully,  dropped  her  hands, 
and  stood  up.  She  arose  too.  It  was  all  over, 
then. 


io8  FULFILLMENT 

"  You  won't  kiss  me,  Gwen  ?  "  his  persistent 
voice  repeated  in  stupefaction. 

She  laughed,  and  it  seemed  to  him  she  swal 
lowed  a  sob.  "  You  know  I  never  could  endure 
such  things.  You  know  I  hate — demonstrative- 
ness." 

"  But — I  love  you,  dearest.  You  are  going 
to  marry  me." 

"  The  day  after  tomorrow,  George.  It's  such  a 
short  time  to  wait.  Can't  you  wait  till  then?" 

In  his  simple  worship  of  her  it  seemed  to  him 
that  she  was  making  a  last  desperate  fight  for 
her  girlhood's  reserves  and  elusiveness,  for  the 
noli  me  tangere  which  had  always  kept  her  sacred 
in  the  thoughts  of  all  men. 

He  stood  before  her,  her  sworn  knight. 

With  infinite  gentleness  he  took  her  face  be 
tween  his  hands  and  looked  deep  into  her  be 
seeching  eyes.  "  Yes,  I  can  wait,"  he  laughed, 
his  own  eyes  blazing.  "  But  I  give  you  fair 
warning :  you'll  make  up  for  it ! "  and  he  let 
her  go. 

Her  eyelids  drooped.  She  stood  pale  and  hum 
ble  as  a  nun  under  his  consecrating  gaze. 


THE  KNIGHT  109 

And  so  it  was  that  the  next  morning,  when 
Deborah  Heath  awoke,  she  found  folded  into  a 
rakish  cocked  hat,  the  following  little  note  upon 
her  pillow: 

"  DEAR  DEB, 

"  The  top  o'  the  morning  to  you.  George 
Leland  and  I  are  going  to  be  married  day  after 
tomorrow.  Tomorrow  will  be  today  when  you 
read  this, — as  eloping  girls  write  in  novels. 

"  Full  particulars  when  we  meet. 

"  GWEN." 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  EASIEST  WAY 

AT  about  half-past  eight  of  the  morning,  Mabel 
Goddard,  daintily  capped,  luxuriously  reclining  in 
her  luxurious  bed,  leisurely  scanning  the  morn 
ing  paper,  turned  with  a  slight  yawn  to  answer 
the  ringing  of  the  telephone  at  her  side. 

"Hallo!" 

"That  you,  Mabel?" 

"  Yes." 

"  This  is  Gwen.    I " 

"  Hallo,  Gwen,  you  little  wretch,  where  have 
you  been  hiding  these  last  few  days?  I've  rung 
you  up " 

"  Yes,  Martha  gave  me  your  messages.  I  just 
rang  you  up  to  tell  you  I'm  going  to  be  married 
at  noon  today,  and  I  want  you  and  Frank  to  be 
present.  Will  you  come?" 

"  You  sphinx,  you  minx,  what,  in  the  name  of 
all  that's  holy,  are  you  talking  about?" 

no 


THE  EASIEST  WAY  in 

"  My  wedding,  dear.  At  twelve  sharp.  To 
your  own  cousin,  George  Warren  Leland.  We're 
going  to  motor  down  to  Los  Angeles,  where 
George  has  some  business  to  attend  to,  and  from 
there  cut  across  to  Europe.  Isn't  it  fun  ?  " 

Fun !  Gwen  Heath  talking  about  her  own  mar 
riage  as  fun! 

"  Really,  Gwen,  don't  you  think  one  can  carry 
cynicism  too  far?  Facetiousness " 

"  I  haven't  time  for  your  confession  of  unfaith 
in  my  word,  darling !  But  you  may  look  among 
the  marriage  license  announcements  in  this  morn 
ing's  paper  to  bear  me  out  and  prove  my  invita 
tion's  no  practical  joke.  There'll  be  no  one  here 
but  you  two,  and  Judge  and  Mrs.  Harrison.  Do 
you  think  Frank  can  come  ?  Is  he  still  at  home  ?  " 

"  You  sound — almost — real !  " 

"  If  you  could  feel  me,  you'd  see.  I'll  expect 
you,  then,  if  I  don't  hear  anything  to  the  con 
trary.  Good-by." 

Mabel  turned  from  the  gay  voice  with  a  dazed 
face.  "  Fun !  "  she  repeated,  her  face  furiously 
flushed,  and  she  snatched  up  the  newspaper  where, 
after  much  turning  and  discarding  and  crackling 


ii2  FULFILLMENT 

and  scanning,  she  found  the  column  and,  midway, 
the  item : 

"  George  Warren  Leland,  32,  Hotel  St.  Francis, 
and  Gwendolen  Heath,  23,  3390  Clay  Street." 

She  read  it  with  bewildered  eyes  which  finally 
took  on  a  gleam  of  cold,  denunciating  resentment. 
She  looked  off  into  the  distance,  weighing  the 
sensational  announcement  with  the  evidence  in 
hand.  Across  her  flashed  the  memory  of  her  talk 
with  Leland  three  nights  before.  "  That  is  the 
answer,"  she  decided  with  finality  through  set 
teeth,  and  pitched  the  offending  newspaper  into 
the  middle  of  the  room.  Then  she  turned  and 
rang  up  her  husband's  office. 

"  Has  Mr.  Goddard  come  in  yet  ?  " 

"  Not  yet.    Oh — one  minute — here  he  is  now." 

"Yes?" 

"  Frank,  it's  me — Mabel.  What  do  you  think 
I've  just  heard?" 

"Yes?" 

"  Gwen  Heath  is  going  to  marry  George — our 
George — George  Leland,  at  noon  today.  She 
just  rang  up  to  ask  us  to  the  wedding !  " 


THE  EASIEST  WAY  113 

"Yes?" 

"  Yes !  For  heaven's  sake  what  does  that 
mean?  Aren't  you  dum founded — isn't  it  in 
credible?" 

"  Yes." 

"Do  you  believe  it?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  I  don't,  and  I've  just  read  the  announce 
ment  of  the  marriage  license  in  the  paper.  How 
can  you  believe  it  ?  I  know  he  is  terribly  in  love 
with  her,  but  you  know  she  has  always  ignored 
his  devotion  or  tried  to  plague  it  to  death.  You 
know  it  as  well  as  I  do." 

"  Yes." 

"  Really,  Frank,  that  cool  '  yes '  of  yours  is 
enough  to  drive  one  frantic !  Can  you  go  to  the 
wedding?" 

"  Yes." 

"  That's  the  one  sensible  remark  you've  made 
yet,  you  mean  old  thing.  Go  over  and  see 
George,  and  be  home  in  time  to  dress — and  don't 
you  dare  to  give  me  another  of  your  unfeeling 
yeses!" 

She  cut  off  his  hearty  laugh,  banging  up  the 


ii4  FULFILLMENT 

receiver.  She  sat  a  few  minutes  with  her  hand 
over  her  eyes  and  then,  more  quietly,  had  herself 
connected  with  Leland's  hotel.  A  moment  later, 
he  answered. 

"  It's  Mabel,  George." 

"  Yes,  Mabel." 

"  Gwen  has  just  told  me." 

"That  I'm  the  happiest  man  in  the  world?" 
How  he  rushed  to  say  it!  To  reassure  her — or 
himself  ? 

"  I  know  you  are,  dear." 

"  I  am,  Mabel.  Aren't  you  going  to  congratu 
late  me?" 

"  George — are  you  crying?  " 

"  Great  Scott,  what  for?  But  I  do  believe  you 
are!" 

"  I  don't  care  if  I  am.    George " 

"Yes,  dear  old  pal?" 

"  I — I  hope  she  will  make  you  very  happy, 
dear." 

"  Thank  you.  She  has  already.  The  ques 
tion  is  the  other  way  round." 

"  I  haven't  any  doubts  on  that  score.  And  I 
hope  she'll  keep  you  happy  forever  and  a  day." 


THE  EASIEST  WAY  115 

"  Can  you  doubt  it — knowing  and  loving  her 
as  you  do  ?  " 

"  Nobody  really  knows  Gwen — except  you, 
perhaps,  now,  George.  But  she  is  the  most  won 
derful,  beautiful,  bewitching  thing  I've  ever  met. 
She  is  the  truest  of  friends.  She  can  be  any 
thing  she  wants  to  be,  and — and  she'd  never  want 
to  be  anything  that  isn't  lovely  and  good  to  you 
if — if  she  promises  to  marry  you." 

She  had  worked  herself  up  to  this  pitch  of 
loyalty  for  his  sake,  and,  in  her  frenzy,  believed 
every  word  of  it. 

"  You're  an  angel,  Mabel.  Talk  about  per 
fect  friends !  But  now  I  have  a  number  of  things 
to  attend  to  in  town  before " 

"  Can't  I  come  down  and  help  you,  George? 
Please  let  me." 

"Help  me?    What  about?" 

"  Oh,  to  pack,  to  dress, — anything." 

He  answered  with  a  shouting  laugh. 

"Then  let  me  tell  Frank " 

"  All  right.  I'll  see  him  at  the  office  in  a  few 
minutes.  Mabel  ?  " 

"Yes?" 


ii6  FULFILLMENT 

"  That  tone  of  yours  just  now  brought  back — 
memories.  If  she  were  here  today !  " 

"  George — I  want  to  kiss  you." 

"  We'll  take  a  long  distance  one  now, — have  to 
wait  for  the  real  thing  till — Kingdom  Come — a 
few  hours  hence — for  me !  " 

His  joyous  laugh  ended  the  colloquy. 

If  only  she  had  someone  with  whom  to  dis 
cuss  it  then  and  there !  But  how  could  she  ever 
discuss  it  with  anyone? — George  Leland,  pecu 
liarly  dear  to  her,  Gwen  Heath,  her  closest  friend 
whom,  all  the  world  knew,  she  had  always  held 
on  a  pedestal.  The  world — oh,  yes,  of  course 
the  jealous,  spiteful  world  would  discuss  it — she 
could  hear  it ! — in  its  impersonal,  cynical,  vulgar 
way, — as  it  had  every  right  to  do.  And  with  this 
acknowledgment,  she  bitterly  contemplated  the 
first  rift  in  her  love  for  Gwen  Heath,  who,  by  her 
one  fateful  act,  had  loosened  the  strong  tie  of 
many  years.  Disillusionment  had  come  to  Mabel 
through  the  one  upon  whom  she  had  pinned  her 
faith  in  womankind.  It  was  well  enough  for  her 
— Mabel — to  have  made  a  marriage  of  reason 


THE  EASIEST  WAY  117 

(and  it  had  turned  out  "  well  enough,"  her  life 
with  Frank,  the  old  dear,  she  thought  easily), 
but  for  a  Gwen  Heath,  she  who  had  always 
seemed  to  breathe  a  more  rarefied  air,  from  whom, 
in  occasional  departures  from  her  accustomed  ret 
icences,  she  had  caught  glimpses  of  the  loftiest 
ideals  of  life,  the  highest  standards  and  demands 
of  conduct! 

Lansing  Wells  ?  Could  it  be  that  that  experi 
ence  had  fatally  maimed  her?  No,  no,  no, — she 
knew  positively  to  the  contrary.  Therefore  there 
remained  but  the  mercenary,  and,  reasoning  al 
ways  in  a  malicious  circle,  her  hand  caught  up 
the  receiver  again,  and  she  sought  out  "  the  spite 
ful  world." 

"Hallo.    Is  this  Miss  Lathrop's  residence?" 

"  Yes." 

"  May  I  speak  to  her,  please?  " 

"Just  a  minute/' 

A  pause. 

"  Hallo." 

"Is  that  you,  Elizabeth?" 

"Yes?" 

"  This  is  Mabel  Goddard.    I  have  the  loveliest 


n8  FULFILLMENT 

news  to  tell  you.  My  cousin,  George  Leland,  is 
going  to  be  married  today  at  noon." 

"  Why,  you  literally  take  away  my  breath. 
Who's  the  lucky  girl?" 

''  You'll  say  he's  the  lucky  man  when  you  hear 
who's  who.  Can't  you  guess  ?  " 

"  Haven't  an  inkling.  He's  never  been  atten 
tive  to  anyone  in  particular." 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  has — terribly  particular.  Only 
he  has  only  been  one  of  many  bees  round  that 
particular  flower.  Can't  you  guess  now?" 

"  Some  belle  ?  Don't  tease,  Mabel, — who  is 
it?" 

"Why,  Gwen  Heath,  of  course." 

"  Gwen  Heath !  "  The  conspicuous  pause  was 
followed  by  a  tight  little  laugh.  "  Why,  it  looks 
like  a  heart  caught  on  the  rebound,  doesn't 
it?" 

"  Not  at  all— to  me." 

"Well,  well,  so  it's  George  Leland!  Well,  I 
still  maintain  she's  the  lucky  one,  although  she's 
pretty  enough — as  far  as  that  goes." 

"  Pretty !  Gwen  Heath  pretty !  My  dear,  you 
are  pretty,  and  I  am  pretty.  Gwen  is  not  only 


THE  EASIEST  WAY  119 

exquisite,  but  she  has  more  personality  in  one  of 
her  little  fingers  than  any  one  of  us  could  ever 
have  in  our  whole  make-up  if  we  studied  her  for 
a  hundred  years !  " 

"  Exuberant  as  ever,  Mabel.  I  grant  you  she's 
clever.  It  will  be  lovely  for  her,  poor  thing." 

"  Poor  thing?    What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  just  happened  to  remember — I  didn't 
pay  much  attention  when  I  heard  it — that  their 
father  didn't  leave  them  a  cent,  did  he?  " 

"  Not  quite  so  bad  as  that,  Elizabeth.  Who 
told  you  that  tragic  myth  ?  " 

"  Why,  everybody  knows  that  Miss  Heath  has 
taken  a  position." 

"  Indeed  she  has — a  splendid  position  just  made 
for  her,  and  she  for  it.  At  last  she's  able  to 
follow  her  bent,  now  that  her  other  occupation's 
gone, — her  father  no  more,  and  Gwen  grown  up 
and  going  to  be  married.  Well,  she's  the  most 
finely  beautiful  woman  I  know,  and  has  only 
added  another  luster  to  her  crown." 

"  What  an  idealist  you  are,  Mabel !  I  wish  I 
could  put  glamours  on  commonplace  things,  as 
you  do." 


120  FULFILLMENT 

"  But  I  don't,  there's  the  beauty  of  it— and  the 
truth — which  you  ignore." 

"  Dear  me,  you  are  funny.  Well,  I'm  sure 
everybody  will  be  so  surprised,  and  I  hope  Mr. 
Leland  will  be  awfully  happy,  and  I  do  congratu 
late  Miss  Heath  so  very,  very  much.  Thanks  for 
ringing  me  up,  Mabel.  Going  to  the  wedding, 
I  suppose.  Well,  have  a  good  time,  and  kiss  the 
bride  and  the  bridegroom  for  me.  Good-by." 

Mabel  kept  her  mouth  to  the  transmitter  after 
gently  hanging  up  the  receiver.  "  Good-by,  sweet 
kitty,"  she  softly  murmured  into  the  unresponsive 
instrument,  "  good-by,  little  cat, — good-by,  lady 
green  eyes, — good-by,  hateful  snob, — good-by!" 

And,  having  relieved  herself,  if  but  to  desert 
air,  she  lay  back  upon  her  pillows  and  wept  fit 
fully  for  a  half-hour.  She  thought  of  "  Her  " 
whom  George  had  wished  with  him — she  thought 
of  how  she  had  equipped  him  for  life  and  its  pit 
falls, — of  how  the  mind  could  dwell  upon  him  as 
upon  few  men. — How  dared  Gwen  Heath  use  his 
splendid  manhood  and  love  for  her  material  ends ! 

"  I  suppose  she'll  wear  that  new  blue  suit  she 
had  to  discard  when  her  father  died,"  she  mused 


THE  EASIEST  WAY  121 

through  her  tears,  and  with  an  indescribable 
sense  of  personal  loss.  And  she  arose  and  pro 
ceeded  to  the  protracted  art  of  dressing  for  the 
wedding. 

The  sun  had  parted  the  veils  of  fog  of  the 
morning.  The  fine,  worn  old  room  seemed  to 
have  awakened  to  a  shy  self-consciousness.  The 
blinds  were  raised  halfway,  and  Apollo  of  the 
golden  touch,  peeping  through  the  creamy  folds 
of  the  curtains,  had,  by  searching,  found  a  thing 
to  love.  Even  to  the  farthest  corners  where  the 
time-seasoned  mahoganies  had  been  pushed,  he 
lit  upon  line,  and  knob,  and  claw,  and  deepened 
them  to  a  richer  glow,  beamed  so  adoringly  upon 
the  sun-steeped  Bacchus  above  the  mantel  that 
the  wine-stained  lips  almost  appeared  to  burst 
into  song  as  the  boy,  drunk  with  the  glory, 
glanced  out  from  the  shadowing  branches  of 
the  pale  pink  hawthorn  which  everywhere  em 
bowered  and  transfigured  the  place  with  its 
youth. 

The  mellow  voice  of  the  pastor  flowed  steadily 
on  in  the  age-old  ceremony,  and  Mabel  Goddard 


122  FULFILLMENT 

looked  in  deepest  scorn  upon  the  little  assemblage 
gathered  before  the  hawthorn-hidden  fireplace, — 
upon  Deborah  Heath,  stately  and  silent,  blessing 
the  scene  with  her  countenance,  upon  Mrs. 
Harrison,  ruddy,  round,  and  radiant  with  her 
smile  of  matronly  approval,  upon  Judge  Har 
rison,  fine  and  dignified,  his  dark  eyes  aglow 
under  his  curly  white  hair,  as  if  presiding  at  the 
nuptials  of  two  young  gods,  upon  her  own  hus 
band,  big,  easy,  successful,  taking  it  all  for 
granted  and  smiling  unctuously  as  over  some 
delectable  joke,  upon  old  Martha  in  the  back 
ground,  weeping  in  buxom  sentimentality; — upon 
herself,  sleek  and  fashionably  tolerant,  upon  the 
droning  clergyman,  professionally  trite  and  im 
personal, — but  most  of  all  her  scorn  brooded  over 
the  cynosure,  the  objective  point  of  their  presence 
there — the  beautiful,  pallid,  soulless  face  of  the 
bride.  For  soulless  it  undoubtedly  was,  with  that 
set  smile  upon  the  lips,  that  dead  look  in  the  eyes 
fastened  upon  the  face  of  the  speaker.  Oh, 
Gwen  Heath  knew  well  enough  what  she  was 
about,  knew  well  enough  the  fraud  she  was  prac 
ticing  upon  the  intent  man  beside  her  with  the 


THE  EASIEST  WAY  123 

light  of  happiness  upon  his  brow.  He  alone,  of 
all  the  group,  escaped  Mabel's  contempt  through 
her  knowledge  of  what  the  moment  meant  to 
him.  But  Gwen  Heath  was  coldly,  deliberately, 
making  a  marriage  of  reason,  Gwen  Heath,  the 
idealist,  was  selling  herself  for  a  seat  in  Vanity 
Fair !  All  through  the  short  ceremony  the  wither 
ing  denunciation  clamored  within  her  for  utter 
ance,  in  the  inarticulate,  futile,  "  I  forbid !  "  of 
the  human  heart  against  fate. 

And  suddenly  Leland  was  kissing  his  bride, 
lightly,  fleetly,  as  if  in  response  to  the  swift, 
scarcely  perceptible  glance  the  girl  had  given 
him.  But  Mabel  had  perceived  it  and  her  cheeks 
were  hot  with  resentment,  as,  the  next  minute,  she 
heard  Gwen's  silvery  laugh  and,  like  clashing 
bells  all  pealing  together,  the  formalities  and  in 
anities  tumbling  over  one  another  in  excess  of 
emotion. 

Judge  Harrison's  oratorical,  "  My  dear,  I  know 
you  will  be  happy.  Such  a  fine,  sterling  fellow! 
I  must  tell  him  about  my  old-fashioned  habit  of 
praying  that  '  prayer  of  Plato  old  '  whenever  I 
look  at  you."  Frank's  convivial,  "  Well,  Gwen,  at 


124  FULFILLMENT 

last  I'm  going  to  get  that  kiss  I've  been  waiting 
for  all  my  life.  By  Jove,  old  George  is  the  lucky 
dog.  Look  out  for  duels  and  things  when  this 
gets  out." — "  Roads  fine — you'll  get  to  Del  Monte 
early  in  the  evening  if  you  don't  have  a  blow-out 
— no  fear  of  a  falling-out  so  early  in  the  day,  of 
course !  " — "  Dear  child,  it  was  only  yesterday 
you  were  a  naughty  little  girl  and  Deb  running 
over  to  ask  me  how  she  could  punish  you  without 
hurting  you! — and  now  you're  a  bride.  I  can't 
help  crying,  Gwen, — I'm  always  such  an  old  fool 
at  a  wedding !  And  here's  Martha,  just  as  bad !  " 
— "  The  top  o'  the  beautiful  day  to  me 
darlint "  All  strung  together  on  G wen's  sil 
very  laugh,  and  the  tinkle  of  ice  in  glasses,  and 
Mabel  silently  putting  up  her  lips  to  the  expectant 
ones  and,  at  her  swiftly  averted  eyes,  the  blood 
rushing  in  a  torrent  over  the  bride's  face,  the  first 
tinge  of  color  it  had  shown  that  day.  Gwen,  as 
the  other  moved  quickly  from  her  to  Leland, 
knew  that  Mabel,  upon  her  loyal  board  of  friend 
ship,  had  turned  down  "  an  empty  glass." 

And  presently  there   followed  a  murmurous 
pause  and  a  sudden  rush  for  the  front  door  in 


THE  EASIEST  WAY  125 

pursuit  of  two  figures  flying  down  the  long  flight 
of  steps, — the  slighter  one  well  in  advance, — a 
laughing,  scuttling,  and  raining  of  rice,  and  Gwen 
safe  within  the  tonneau  of  the  car.  George,  ar 
rested  by  the  untimely  postman  poking  two  letters 
toward  "  Miss  Gwen  Heath,"  straightway 
pocketed  them  while  dodging  the  pelting  rice,  as 
he  disappeared  after  her, — the  throbbing  machine 
sped  forward  and,  amid  wavings  of  handker 
chiefs  and  echoing  farewells,  they  were  off. 

Something  whirled  through  the  air  and  fell  pat 
on  the  chauffeur's  hand  at  the  wheel.  He  clutched 
it  deftly  and,  with  a  road  grin,  but  without  turn 
ing,  passed  it  back  to  them  over  his  shoulder.  It 
was  a  tiny  white  kid  slipper,  one  of  Gwen's  first 
shoes,  from  which  fetish  Martha  had  tearfully 
parted  in  an  outburst  of  superstitious  ecstasy. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  "  peanut  on  a  height," 
sat  deserted,  blinking  wistfully  in  the  soft  after 
noon  sun.  The  nursemaids  with  their  arrested 
perambulators  moved  on,  two  boys  on  bicycles 
circled  away,  the  builders  at  the  corner  returned 
to  their  hammering,  curious  heads  at  windows 
withdrew,  the  street  resumed  its  wonted  aspect. 


126  FULFILLMENT 

Deborah,  in  the  echoing  hush  of  the  house,  ab 
stractedly  "  straightening  up  "  the  unwonted  dis 
array  of  the  library,  moved  over  to  the  windows 
and  stood  in  amazement,  looking  out. 

"Martha,"  she  called  excitedly,  "  Martha! 
Come  here." 

From  her  kitchen  Martha  came  running,  ques 
tioning. 

"  Look  at  that,"  said  Deb. 

Over  the  sidewalk,  on  the  stone  coping,  edging 
the  lawn,  fluttering  from  step  to  step,  flocks  of 
pigeons,  white,  black,  dove-colored,  iridescent, 
had  settled  and  were  busily  devouring  the  harvest 
of  good  wishes. 

The  two  women  gazed  at  the  picture  with 
smiling  eyes,  Deb's  slowly  filling  from  some  vague 
fount  of  longing. 

"  Interpret  it,  Martha,"  she  murmured. 

"In ?" 

"What  does  it  mean,  Mats  dear?" 

"  It  manes,"  pondered  the  faithful  one  in  oracu 
lar  solemnity,  "  it  manes  that  the  Lord's  a  bet 
ter  housekaper  nor  you  nor  me,  Miss  Deb.  It 
manes  that  old  Mats  won't  have  to  swape  up  anny 


THE  EASIEST  WAY  127 

lavin's  in  the  marnin',  and  that,  in  these  days  of 
ixtravagince,  He  never  wastes  a  grain." 

With  which  Delphic  utterance  she  left  Debo 
rah  to  her  thoughts. 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  SNARL 

THEY  had  sped  over  the  familiar  driveways  of 
the  Park  and  burst  upon  the  misty  splendor  of 
the  sea;  down  the  ocean  boulevard  they  flew,  and 
on  to  and  over  the  county  line,  leaving  the  city  far 
behind.  Down  the  leafy  shade  of  glass-smooth 
roads,  past  the  villas  and  surburban  mansions  of 
the  peninsula  glimpsed  through  arbors  and  ave 
nues  of  meeting  oaks  and  pines  and  eucalyptus, 
they  passed  into  the  sleeping  foothills,  the  warm 
fragrance  of  new-mown  hay  breathing  intoxicat- 
ingly  into  their  faces,  and  so  on  and  up  into  the 
mountain  passes.  The  day  soft,  and  with  a  faint, 
far  mist  in  its  eyes,  lost  its  shimmer  as  the  sun 
slipped  downward  and,  with  the  approach  of 
evening,  wrapped  itself  in  a  fleecy  mantle  of  fog 
which  clung  to  the  hillsides  with  long,  silvery- 
gray  fingers,  enfolded  in  mourning  veils  the  wind- 
riven  cypresses  they  passed  on  the  wayside,  and 

123 


THE  SNARL  129 

rushed  upon  them  with  damp,  keen  breath. 
Leland  tucked  the  robes  more  closely  about  her. 

They  had  talked  all  the  way  down  of  every 
thing  but  the  high  moment  through  which  they  had 
just  emerged.  In  the  blunted  condition  to  which 
Gwen  had  reduced  all  sensation,  the  stinging  blow 
which  Mabel's  look  had  given  her  had  left  only 
a  dull  trace.  She  rode  lightly  on  the  crest  of  the 
wave  of  the  present,  looking  neither  forward  nor 
back.  She  had  rushed  into  a  stream  of  words 
from  the  moment  of  departure,  so  persistent,  so 
inexhaustible  and  incessant,  that,  to  Leland,  it 
seemed  designed  to  hold  him  still  beyond  the  as 
cetic  barrier  she  had  insisted  upon,  and  which  he 
had  counted  upon  contravening  with  the  first 
turn  of  the  wheels.  Resigning  himself  to  the 
indulgence  of  only  one  tight  squeeze  of  the  small, 
unresponsive,  gloved  hand,  he  strained  his  over 
strained  patience  to  its  limits. 

They  exhausted  plans  and  counterplans  of  their 
itinerary  with  comment  on  the  countries  and  peo 
ples  they  already  knew,  and  Gwen  piled  anec 
dote  upon  anecdote  until  the  last  hour  of  their 
ride,  when,  in  the  waning  light,  she  fell  into 


130  FULFILLMENT 

sudden  and  complete  silence,  her  mouth  drooping 
in  utter  weariness. 

He  watched  her  with  yearning  solicitude. 
"  Tired  ?  "  he  ventured,  his  hand  again  seeking 
hers  covered  snugly  under  the  robe. 

"  Just  a  headache,"  she  murmured  with  an  ef 
fort,  and,  with  the  slight,  repeated  repulse  of  the 
hidden  hand,  he,  too,  lapsed  into  silence,  looking 
straight  ahead  into  the  gathering  darkness. 

The  hotel  was  agleam  with  lights  when  they 
drew  near.  Here  and  there  a  couple  or  single 
figure  could  be  seen  sauntering  through  the  dusky 
shrubbery.  The  verandas  looked  deserted, — to 
their  unspoken  satisfaction,  it  being  the  height  of 
the  season. 

"  We'll  dine  upstairs,"  he  suggested  as  they  pre 
pared  to  alight. 

"Why  should  we?  We'll  go  right  in,"  she 
returned  positively,  waiting  for  him  to  step  out. 

The  color  dashed  to  his  face  in  his  surprise  but 
he  put  out  his  hand  to  help  her  without  further 
protest. 

However,  just  as  they  turned  from  the  desk, 
she  drew  back  quickly.  "  After  all,  let's  have  it 


THE  SNARL  131 

upstairs,"  she  said  hurriedly,  and  George,  with 
a  view  of  Lansing  Wells's  unmistakable  back  dis 
appearing  in  the  direction  of  the  dining-room, 
turned  again  for  an  instant  to  the  clerk,  but  with 
a  sense  of  tightened  attention  upon  the  girl  be 
hind  him  who  seemed  fluttering  from  his  grasp. 

The  waiter  drew  the  table  near  the  window 
overlooking  the  grounds,  indistinct  now  in  the 
night.  Gwen  drew  near,  keeping  her  eyes  fas 
tened  upon  the  outer  darkness  while  they  waited. 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  take  off  your  hat  and 
stay  awhile  ?  "  he  asked,  coming  round  to  her,  his 
smile  seeking  her  eyes. 

She  started  violently  as  if  recalled  from  afar. 
"  Oh,"  she  said,  putting  up  her  hands,  "  I  for 
got  it  was  there.  You  can't  find  the  pins, 
silly." 

"  Oh,  can't  I !  "  he  persisted,  fumbling  and 
drawing  it  off  in  triumph. 

She  ran  her  fingers  through  her  flattened  hair. 
"  O-oh,"  she  sighed  brokenly,  and  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands. 

He  turned  from  depositing  the  hat  on  the  sofa 
and,  with  a  stride,  was  at  her  side. 


132  FULFILLMENT 

"What  is  it?"  he  whispered,  his  arm  about 
her,  drawing  her  gently  toward  him. 

"  Don't,"  she  resisted,  pushing  him  forcibly 

away.  "  Can't  you  see "  she  pulled  herself 

together.  "  I  mean — I  have  such  a  headache, 
George."  Her  voice  pleaded  for  quiet. 

"  I  forgot,  sweetheart."  He  stood  at  bay, 
helplessly  regarding  her  as  she  slipped  into  a 
chair.  "  Perhaps  when  you've  eaten  some 
thing " 

"  All  I  want  is  a  cup  of  tea.  There's  the  waiter 
now." 

When  it  was  brought,  she  drank  with  effort, 
nibbling  at  a  piece  of  toast  and  refusing  all  his 
coaxings  to  taste,  if  only  a  bite,  each  of  the  several 
courses  he  had  jocosely  ordered  for  himself. 

"  George,  do  you  mind, — don't  get  up  " — she 
was  standing,  her  hands  lightly  touching  the 
table,  "if  I  leave  you  to  your  coffee?  You'll 
smoke,  won't  you?  And  if  I  go  inside  and  make 
myself  comfortable — and  just  close  my  eyes  for 
a  while — my  old  head  will  stop  bothering  and  be 
have  itself  more  agreeably.  You  won't  mind, 
will  you  ?  " 


THE  SNARL  133 

She  looked  so  exquisite  in  her  pleading,  but  so 
fragile  in  her  very  evident  suffering,  that  though 
he  had  sprung  up  and  even  made  a  movement 
toward  her,  again  he  desisted  and  answered  play 
fully,  looking  into  her  darkened  eyes. 

"  '  Foiled  again,  said  the  villain ! '  I  hate  to 
see  you  looking  like  that,  Gwen.  Can't  I  do  any 
thing  ?  There,  don't  speak — I  know  every  word's 
an  effort.  I've  had  infernal  headaches  myself." 
He  moved  beyond  the  dividing  door  into  the  far 
ther  room,  switched  on  the  light  for  her  and  came 
back  to  the  threshold,  holding  the  door  open  for 
her  with  one  hand  while  the  other  thrust  itself 
nervously  into  his  coat  pocket. 

"  Hallo!  "  he  exclaimed  blithely.  "  Here  are 
those  letters  the  postman  gave  me  just  as  we  were 
leaving.  Perhaps  they'll  stop  the  pain." 

She  had  turned  for  her  hat  and  coat,  and  now, 
reaching  the  threshold,  took  the  letters  from  him 
with  a  hasty  glance  at  the  upper  address.  "  Some 
old  advertisement,"  she  commented  carelessly, 
and  passed  in.  He  said  nothing  further,  quietly 
closing  the  door  between  them. 

She  walked  in,  scarcely  noting  the  wide  com- 


134  FULFILLMENT 

fort  of  the  room,  threw  the  letters  upon  the 
dresser,  and  stood  a  moment  leaning  there  with 
closed  eyes.  "  I  must  get  out  of  these  things," 
she  decided  finally,  forcing  herself  to  action,  and 
half  mechanically,  but  with  a  sense  of  relief,  she 
slipped  from  her  outer  garments  and  into  a  loose, 
creamy  negligee.  She  drew  the  pins  from  her 
hair,  shook  down  the  burden  and  with  accus 
tomed,  though  tired  hand,  gave  it  a  few  quick 
touches  with  the  brush,  divided  it,  and  braided  it 
loosely  on  either  side  of  her  face  whence  it  fell, 
two  broad,  gleaming  ropes  to  her  knees.  Where 
upon  she  at  once  felt  refreshed. 

Looking  down,  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  upper 
letter  where  she  had  dropped  it.  "  Cronin's,"  she 
read  in  the  left-hand  corner,  with  an  amused 
smile.  "  Want  me  to  buy  my  trousseau,  I  sup 
pose."  Idly,  she  picked  up  the  two  missives  to 
gether,  and  sank  into  the  low  chair  standing  near. 

She  tore  open  the  top  envelope  and  read  the 
lithographed  lines  from  first  to  last,  a  girlish  in 
terest  holding  her  to  the  courteous  announce 
ment  from  the  leading  lingerie  establishment  of 
the  city.  Finishing  it,  she  let  it  flutter  from  her 


THE  SNARL  135 

fingers  to  the  floor  and  leaned  back,  closing  her 
eyes  wearily.  Her  hand  coming  in  contact  with 
the  other  envelope,  she  took  hold  of  it  without 
consciousness  while  her  thoughts  swam  in  a  tu 
multuous  sea.  Presently,  with  a  wrench  of  will, 
she  opened  her  eyes  and  gazed  somberly  at  the 
wall  opposite,  till,  vaguely  cognizant  of  some 
thing  between  her  fingers,  she  held  it  up  to  view. 

She  sat  up. 

With  both  hands  she  pinned  the  square  en 
velope  fast  to  her  knee,  gazing  with  wild  eyes. 
Furtively,  she  glanced  over  her  shoulder.  Noth 
ing  was  there — no  Fate- face  peering  through  the 
shadows  in  grinning  triumph,  no  ghostly,  retribu 
tive  lasso  hurtling  through  the  air  to  pinion  her 
there  with  his  letter.  Her  eyes  evaded  the  door, 
fastening  upon  the  unmistakable  handwriting. 
She  crouched  together  in  her  chair,  a  slow,  in 
congruous  ecstasy  overtaking  her  limbs,  her  brain, 
her  whole  being.  Her  finger  ripped  open  the  thin 
paper.  The  letter  unfolded  at  her  touch.  Her 
head  bent  lower.  She  sat  in  the  very  heart  of 
silence,  in  infinite  space,  alone  with  him. 

"  Gwen,"  she  read,  but  unconscious  that  she 


136  FULFILLMENT 

read, — conscious  only  that  he  spoke  to  her, — "  I 
ignore  your  response.  I  know  that  phase  has 
passed. 

"  The  long  watch  is  over,  and  my  boy 
sleeps 

"  There  is  nothing  now  to  divide  us,  dear  love. 
Even  the  sanction  of  the  law,  so  necessary  to 
you,  shall  be  ours.  As  soon  as  it  is  seemly,  di 
vorce  proceedings  will  be  instituted.  That  is 
arranged.  After  that  it  will  rest  with  you  how 
soon  our  separation  shall  cease, — at  once,  or  not 
until  the  courts  make  it  easier  for  you.  I  will 
not  plead  against  your  peace  of  mind.  I  await 
your  bidding. 

"  But  there  is  no  separation  in  love,  beloved. 
Not  in  love  for  you.  No  man,  once  loving  you, 
can  ever  wholly  lose  you.  And  I  have  more  than 
loved  you, — I  have  known  fruition — I  have  held 
you,  responsive,  in  my  arms.  I  only.  I  know 
that,  jealously,  my  dove,  my  sweet,  my  blossom 
of  purity,  as  I  know  that  I  live  and  love  you. 
Did  you  not  tell  me  all  in  that  kiss  with  which  you 

gave  yourself?  My  darling — my  beautiful 

Again  I  stand  with  you  above  the  murmuring 


THE  SNARL  137 

waters,  and  their  eternal  song  is  but  the  eternal 
echo  of  our  love.  Are  you  there  again  with  me  ? 
Do  you  hear  the  sea — do  you  feel  my  arms  about 
you, — mate  of  mine " 

Her  eye  took  in  no  more.  Far  below  her,  yet 
very  near,  the  waters  swirled  and  flowed,  and 
ebbed.  Systole,  diastole,  like  a  heart.  And  the 
night  held  them.  His  arms  enfolded  her, — she 
could  feel  his  heart  beating  against  her  own 

A  faint  tapping,  followed  a  moment  later  by  a 
clicking  sound,  drew  her  unseeing  eyes.  The 
door  opened  gently,  and  a  strange  man  came  into 
the  room. 

She  arose  slowly,  fearfully,  holding  on  to  the 
chair.  "  What  is  it?  "  she  said,  her  voice  scarce 
above  a  whisper.  "  What  do  you  want?  " 

"  Your  headache,  darling.  Is  it  better  ?  "  He 
came  nearer,  and  as  he  came  his  arms  went  out 
to  her. 

"  No,  no,"  she  prayed,  and  pushed  the  chair 
between  them.  "  It's  a  mistake — a  terrible  mis 
take.  I  don't  know  you — I " 

"  Don't  know  me !  Ah,  Gwen,  I  suppose  every 
girl  has  said  that  since  time  began.  Only,  sweet- 


138  FULFILLMENT 

heart "  he  shoved  the  chair  aside,  snatched 

her  to  him  with  one  arm,  and  catching  up  one  of 
her  silken  braids,  wound  it  about  his  neck  as  if 
binding  her  to  him. 

But  her  hands,  pushing  desperately  against  his 
shoulders,  thrust  him  back.  "  Listen,"  her  rau 
cous  voice  implored.  "  You  must  listen.  I'm  not 
like  '  all  the  girls.'  That  isn't  it.  I  can't  be  your 
wife.  I  thought  I  could — I've  just  found  out — 
it's  impossible.  I've  done  a  terrible  thing  to  you, 
I  know, — but  I  thought  I  could.  You  are  gen 
erous,  you  are  kind — you'll  let  me  go  now — 
won't  you,  my  dear?  You " 

But,  laughing  in  joyous  tenderness,  he  stran 
gled  her  words  against  his  breast  and,  as  he 
turned  up  her  face  and  his  lips  sought  hers  in  an 
unending  kiss,  suddenly  her  stunned,  fleeing  soul, 
stood  still.  Something,  standing  on  the  threshold 
of  this  doorway  into  a  new  life  arrested  her,  its 
barring  arms  outstretched.  Tradition,  cunning, 
more  powerful  than  passion  of  love  or  hate, 
caught  her  in  its  deadening  grip. 

The  fighting  golden  head,  the  struggling  hands 
lay  quiet.  She  heard  his  voice  in  love's  murmur- 


THE  SNARL  139 

ous  caressing,  felt  his  heart  beating  against  hers, 
felt  his  kisses  raining  upon  her  face,  her  throat, 
her  hair,  and  though  she  did  not  know  that,  with 
every  kiss, — as  before,  with  every  glance, — he  re- 
dedicated  his  life  to  hers,  silent  and  still  as  a 
figure  of  death  she  let  him  hold  her  in  his  im 
passioned  embrace. 

The  gate  had  swung  to  upon  her  soul's  adven 
ture. 


CHAPTER  X 
THE  JUDGMENT  OF  SOLOMON 

IT  happened  to  be  a  Saturday  afternoon  and 
one  of  those  deep,  golden  days  of  October  when 
the  exquisite  sky  of  San  Francisco  lifts  its  fairy, 
invisible  veil  and  gazes  down  in  barefaced  ardor 
upon  the  city's  heights  and  dales  throbbing  under 
the  dreamy  haze  of  heat,  and  Deborah  Heath 
came  out  of  a  little  house  in  the  Richmond  dis 
trict,  with  a  sigh  of  relief  and  content. 

She  had  found  the  place  immaculate  and  the 
new  foster-mother  was  going  to  be  all  right  in 
spite  of  Deb's  previous  doubts,  engendered  by 
the  woman's  hardened  expression,  for  it  had  suf 
ficed  for  only  one  touch  of  the  unconscious,  little 
groping  hand  of  the  baby  against  her  breast  to 
bring  a  shy,  glad  softening  over  the  "  paid " 
mother's  whole  countenance,  and  when  Deborah 
had  left  her  she  was  swaying  gently  in  her  rock 
ing-chair,  holding  the  bottle  of  the  Associated 

140 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  SOLOMON     141 

Charities'  certified  milk  at  just  the  right  angle, 
and,  best  of  all,  her  lips  had  bent  to  touch  the  un 
conscious  little  hand  upon  her  breast. 

In  the  languorous  heat  Deborah  walked  slowly 
toward  the  car,  her  thoughts  full  of  her  work,  but 
just  at  the  Lake  Street  curve  the  sight  of  a  cer 
tain  lovely  old-fashioned  garden  made  her  pause, 
a  light  of  interest  in  her  face,  and  she  crossed 
over  toward  the  pretty  home  just  as  a  young 
girl  came  down  the  side-path  and  opened  the 
gate  wide. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Heath !  "  The  girl's  eyes  glowed 
in  her  thin  face. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  keep  you  a  minute,  Louise. 
I  was  just  passing  and  I  thought  I'd  say  how- 
d'you-do  to  you.  Busy?  " 

"  Oh,  Miss  Heath !  "  Words  failed  her  again, 
then  rushed  in  happy  overflow.  "I'm  taking  her 
for  a  walk  in  the  wheel-chair  now.  She  says  she 
needs  me  and  my  strength.  Oh,  Miss  Heath ! " 

Deb  beamed  over  her  ecstasy.  "  Of  course  she 
does.  She  always  will.  You're  such  a  dear  to 
her.  Run  along  to  get  her  at  once." 

She  turned  to  take  the  car,  rejoicing.     Three 


i42  FULFILLMENT 

weeks  before  the  girl  had  attemped  to  "  end  it 
all  "  by  throwing  herself  into  the  bay,  because 
she  was  out  of  work,  and  "  nobody  cared." 
Rescued  by  a  fisherman,  the  forlorn  "  case  "  had 
been  called  to  the  attention  of  the  social  workers, 
and  Deborah,  with  the  peculiar  insight  and  sym 
pathy  which  were  already  distinguishing  her,  had 
found  just  what  the  girl  needed  and  what  needed 
her. 

Life's  many  disharmonies  were  calling  to  her 
splendid  energies  and  abilities  for  re-adjustment, 
as  if  they  had  always  been  waiting  for  her,  and 
she,  always  ready  with  the  bounty  of  her  richly 
stored  soul,  let  the  work  claim  her  completely. 

Yet  the  whole  afternoon  was  practically  free 
and  she  had  planned  to  attend  to  certain  domestic 
details,  Martha  needing  her  assistance.  In  pur 
suance  of  which,  she  rode  to  Fillmore  Street  and 
wended  her  way  to  market  where,  amid  the  bou 
quet  of  mellow  melons,  late  mountain  peaches, 
bursting  figs,  and  burnished  grapes,  she  listened 
to  the  fruit-man's  paean  of  joy  over  the  end  of 
his  dull  season  now  that  "  the  quality  "  were  re 
turning  from  their  country-seats  and  retreats  to 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  SOLOMON     143 

enjoy  the  wealth  of  bough  ten  lusciousness  at 
hand.  Deborah,  having  ordered  her  fruit,  listened 
interestedly  to  the  voluble  Italian's  dissertation  on 
economics  and,  as  she  went  out  of  the  shop  and 
a  burst  of  melodious  operatic  song  followed  her 
from  the  other  young  "  dago "  busy  over  his 
crates  in  the  rear,  a  realization  of  the  diverse  full 
ness  of  life  animated  all  her  senses. 

Turning  from  the  teeming  thoroughfare  into 
the  quiet  of  Clay  Street,  she  came  almost  full 
tilt  against  Mabel  Goddard,  and,  "Mabel!" 
"  Deborah !  "  expressed  their  mutual  surprise. 

"  When  did  you  get  back  ?  "  asked  Deb,  con 
scious  from  the  moment  of  meeting  of  a  certain 
indefinable  constraint  in  the  greetings  of  the  fair 
epitome  of  summer  before  her. 

"  This  morning.    How  are  you  ?  " 

"  Splendid.  You  are  beautifully  brown.  Been 
golfing  all  these  months,  I  suppose/' 

"Almost.  But  I'll  be  glad  to  get  bleached. 
Awfully  warm,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Have  you Mabel,  what  has  Gwen  been 

writing  you  ?  " 

"  I've  only  had  two  post-cards  from  her, — one 


144  FULFILLMENT 

from  Venice  in  the  beginning,  and  I  forget  where 
the  other  was  from.  George  dropped  me  a  line 
from  Scotland." 

"  Yes.  Then  we've  nothing  to  tell  each  other. 
I  think  they're  motoring  in  Brittany  now. 
I'm " 

"Deb!" 

"Yes?" 

"  When  will  you  have  dinner  with  us  or 
luncheon  with  me  ?  I  must  have  a  talk  with  you. 
Come  tonight." 

"  No.  Some  day  next  week.  I'll  telephone. 
You  wrote  Gwen,  of  course,  Mabel  ?  " 

"  Of  course."  Her  eyes  avoided  the  other's 
searching  ones  as  she  smilingly  parted  from 
her. 

Deb,  frowning,  continued  on  her  way,  keep 
ing  close  within  the  slight  shade  the  houses  af 
forded.  Her  sense  of  comfort  was  gone,  the 
heat  had  suddenly  become  unbearable.  She  would 
not  question  Mabel  Goddard's  attitude — it  was  of 
no  consequence  whatever.  As  to  the  singular 
paucity  of  communication  between  the  two 
friends,  that  was  of  small  import  also.  Each  was 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  SOLOMON     145 

fully  occupied  with  her  own  doings,  Mabel  with  a 
gay  summer,  Gwen  with  her  honeymoon  abroad. 
But  she  knew  that  her  platitudinous  explanation 
was  only  an  evasive  begging  of  the  question.  She 
knew  that  the  strained  correspondence  between 
the  two  friends  was  only  another  phase  of  the 
strained  correspondence  between  the  two  sisters., 
Not  that  she  had  not  been  kept  fully  informed  of 
their  wanderings.  Post-cards  had  rained  upon 
her,  sometimes  several  in  one  day,  if  not  to  her, 
to  Martha, — slap-dash,  gay  affairs  without  a  per 
sonal  remark  save  for  a  teasing  Hibernianism  to 
the  latter. 

But  there  had  not  been  a  single  letter  in  spite 
of  Deb's  reiterated  appeal.  "  Heavens,  Deb," 
Gwen  had  flung  back  across  the  seas,  "  you  don't 
want  a  guide-book  supplement,  or  a  '  Sentimental 
Journey '  epistle,  do  you  ?  I'm  saving  up  all  my 
original  observations  on  things  and  things  till  I 
see  you.  Look-out  for  a  tidal- wave !  " 

But  the  strangeness  of  it  rankled  and  clouded 
the  persistent  hope  which  was  always  at  the  back 
of  her  thoughts.  Meeting  Mabel  brought  the 
hidden  thorn  to  the  threshold  of  consciousness, 


H6  FULFILLMENT 

and  she  hastened  on,  wondering  whether  there 
would  be  a  post-card  awaiting  her.  She  had  not 
heard  from  her  for  a  week. 

And  as  she  touched  the  bell-button,  the  door 
opened  and  Gwen,  in  hat  and  coat,  stood  there 
before  her. 

With  an  abortive  cry  of  stupefaction,  Deb 
caught  her  in  her  arms.  That  was  the  only 
sound  or  sign  of  life  for  a  dark  moment,  and 
then  Gwen,  slipping  from  her  clasp,  closed  the 
front  door. 

"  You !  "  stammered  Deb  crazily,  staring  at  her. 
"  How  dare  you — what — why  did  you  surprise 
me  in  this  delightful  fashion?"  Her  trembling 
voice  sank  to  incoherence  as  her  eye  grasped  the 
devastation  upon  the  wan  face  upon  which  she 
gazed. 

Gwen,  with  a  short  laugh,  raised  a  bored  brow. 
'  You  know  me  and  Solomon  Grundy,"  she  re 
turned  lightly,  and  went  forward  to  Deb's  room. 
"  There's  your  funny  old  chair  looking  half-seas 
over,  same  as  ever,"  she  exclaimed  jocundly  as 
she  walked  in.  "  I  do  believe  I  have  to  plump 
down  into  the  ridiculous  thing,"  and  she  slipped 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  SOLOMON     147 

among  the  cushions  of  Deb's  ancient  steamer- 
chair  and  looked  about  her  as  if  taking  an  in 
ventory  in  the  semi-obscurity,  the  blinds  being 
lowered  over  the  windows  thrown  wide  to  the 
still  air. 

"  Hats  off!  "  Deb  was  saying,  her  hands  at  the 
hidden  pins,  striving  to  keep  her  shocked  heart 
out  of  her  voice.  She  ran  her  fingers  through  the 
soft  hair,  smoothing  back,  with  lingering  touch, 
a  loosened  strand.  "  You're  just  about  two 
months  sooner  than  you  counted,  aren't  you?" 
She  forced  a  careless  tone.  "  And  where's 
George?" 

"  Oh,  he's  downtown  tending  to  things.  He'll 
be  along."  But  Deb's  furtive  attention  had  de 
tected  a  tightening  of  the  lips,  the  smoldering 
gleam  in  the  wide  eyes. 

"  Thinner,  aren't  you,  darling?  Your  coat  is 
awfully  loose."  She  dared  not  speak  of  the 
face.  "  Or  is  that  the  latest  ?  It's  a  perfect  love 
of  a  suit.  There,  take  off  your  gloves  while  I 
get  out  of  my  things,  and  we'll  have  tea  or " 

"  No,  no  tea  or  anything,  Deb,  please.  I've 
had  luncheon  and  I'm  not  a  bit  hungry." 


148  FULFILLMENT 

"Martha's  making  cookies.  Smell  'em? 
They're  lovely  and  hot,  and '' 

"Will  make  the  hurt  place  well?"  The  girl 
drew  a  long,  laughing  breath.  "  Oh,  Deb,  you're 
the  funniest  old  thing  in  the  world!  Cookies! 
You  remind  me  of  the  treatment  for  broken  heart 
in  Mrs.  Craigie's  book :  '  They  fed  it  on  chops  the 
day  that  she  died ! '  She  was  drawing  off  her 
gloves,  one  finger  at  a  time.  "  Why  don't  you 
speak  out — ask  questions — have  it  over  and 
done  with  ?  "  She  pitched  her  gloves  over  to  the 
bed  beyond  and  sat  straight  up,  holding  her  sister 
rooted  under  her  tempestuous  gaze. 

"  Yes,  Gwen,  I'm  going  to,  of  course.  Aren't 
you  well,  my  darling  ?  "  The  tender  voice  stum 
bled  pitifully. 

"  Oh,  grand  and  well,  as  Martha'd  say.  Only 
don't  '  darling '  me  so  insistently.  I'm  not  a 
darling — I'm  a  devil.  His  Majesty's  keeping 
me  these  days,  my  dear,  so  prepare  for  anything 
hateful.  I'm  hateful — vile  and  hateful,  thank 
you!  But  I  thought  to  myself — when  I  was  at 
the  lowest  over  there — no  matter  how  hateful  I 
become,  she  won't  hate  me.  '  If  I  were  hanged 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  SOLOMON     149 

on  the  highest  hill ! '  you  know.  It's  the  way 
some  people  feel  about  God, — so,  you  see,  you're 
a  sort  of  religion  for  me.  That's  why  I've  come 
back  to  you — for  help — in  the  most  religious  step 
imaginable! "  She  laughed  again,  a  sharp,  hard 
sound,  and  Deb's  heart  contracted  forebodingly. 

"  Why  have  you  come  home — like  this?  "  she 
asked  in  a  hoarse  undertone. 

"  Had  to.  Couldn't  stand  it  another  minute. 
Took  the  next  steamer." 

"Why?" 

"  I've  told  you.     Had  to  end  it." 

"End  what?" 

"  Everything.  Mrs.  George  Leland — her 
honeymoon — her  married  life — and  all." 

"Gwen!" 

"  Steady  there,  old  Law-and-Order.  You  are 
up  against  it  at  last." 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  do.  Put  on  your  thinking-cap 
a  minute, — a  modern  one,  Queen  Victoria,  if  you 
can  find  one  in  your  mental  wardrobe!  " 

Deb's  face  had  grown  as  white  and  haggard 
as  the  one  regarding  her.  "  What  has  hap- 


150  FULFILLMENT 

pened  ?  "  she  faltered.  "  Have  you  and  George 
quarreled  ?  " 

"  Quarreled  ?  No.  But  that  doesn't  keep  me 
from  hating  him."  Her  face  was  at  white-heat 
with  her  hate. 

The  sight  frightened  Deb.  "  Why  do  you  hate 
him  ?  "  she  questioned  hoarsely. 

"  Because.  Because — I  told  him  I  had  made 
a  mistake  and — he — wouldn't  try  to  under 
stand." 

Vaguely  Deb  guessed  at  the  meaning  behind 
the  spasmodic  utterance.  "  What  mistake  could 
you  have  made  ?  "  her  dry  lips  formulated. 

"  The  mistake  of  marrying  him.  What  else  ? 
That's  what  I'm  going  to  correct — now — at 
once." 

"Why?" 

"  I've  told  you, — can't  you  understand,  or 
won't  you?  Because  I  hate  him." 

"  Did  you  hate  him  when  you  married  him  ?  " 

"  No,  I  didn't  hate  him  when  I  married  him.  I 
tolerated  him." 

"  But  you  thought  you  would  learn  to  love 
him ?" 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  SOLOMON     151 

"What?" 

"  I  say  you  thought  you  would  learn  to  love 
him,  dearest,"  Deb  repeated  in  sharp  pleading. 

Gwen  stared  at  her  incredulously.  "  A  voice 
from  the  past!"  she  murmured  derisively. 
"  Holy  grandmothers !  Out  of  what  old  rag-bag 
of  sentimentality  did  you  dig  up  that  '  happy- 
ending  J  relic,  Deb  ?  You  thought  I  thought  I 
would  '  learn  to  love  him.'  Lord !  " 

"  I  did,"  affirmed  Deborah  sternly,  utterly  ig 
noring  her  ridicule.  "  As  I  know  you  did." 

"  Indeed  ?  No,  I'm  sorry  to  disillusion  you, 
but  I  never  cherished  your  pretty  illusion  for  a 
minute.  I  never  gave  it  a  thought,  in  truth.  But 
neither  did  I  give  a  thought  to — this." 

"This?    What?" 

"  Hell." 

"  Who  has  made  your  hell  ?  Not  George  Le- 
land  who  loves  you." 

"  Oh,  what  do  you  know !  What  could  you 
know  about  it  anyway !  "  She  flung  her  head 
back  hopelessly  against  the  cushion,  turning  her 
face  away. 

"  I  know,"  came  relentlessly  from  the  woman 


152  FULFILLMENT 

in  the  background.  "  A  good  woman  tries  to 
make  heaven  out  of  hell,  but  you " 

"  I'm  not  a  good  woman,  I'm  telling  you !  " 
She  had  sprung  to  a  sitting  posture  again. 
"  Won't  you  listen — even  with  your  preconceived 
conclusions  ? "  She  spoke  in  hoarse  passion, 
beating  the  chair-arm  with  her  futile  fist.  "  I 
told  him  I  had  made  a  mistake — I  discovered  it 
— how  great  a  mistake  I  had  made — only  then — 
and  I  wanted  to  go  away " 

"  How  did  you  discover  your  mistake — and 
when?" 

"  That  night.     I  had  a  letter." 

"  Oh.  You  discovered  your  mistake  through 
a  letter ! "  Clearly,  through  the  exclamation, 
shone  the  doubting  sneer  behind  it. 

The  girl's  face,  raised  high  above  the  sneer 
of  her  confessor,  was  sharp-drawn  as  a  dagger. 
"  Yes,"  she  answered  distinctly,  "  through  a  let 
ter.  A  letter  from  the  man  I  love." 

"  A  letter  from  the  man  you  love — "  repeated 
the  other  dazedly,  but  through  the  dimness  she 
knew  at  once  of  whom  she  spoke.  "  But — you 
were  married  to  George  Leland." 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  SOLOMON     153 

The  smile  answering  her  was  pitiful  in  its 
patience. 

"  You " — Deb's  face  flushed  darkly  as  she 
strove  for  utterance — "  you  married  one  man,  lov 
ing  another?" 

"And  how  I  loved  him!" 

Deborah  saw.  The  light  of  what  she  saw  and 
heard,  beyond  the  low-breathed  words,  blinded 
her  for  a  space.  Then  her  face  resumed  its  im 
placability.  "  Why  didn't  you  marry  the  man 
you  loved  ?  "  she  asked  harshly. 

"  Because  you  wouldn't  let  me !  "  The  abrupt 
response  startled  them  both.  They  gazed  upon 
each  other  with  frightened  eyes. 

"  I,  Gwen,  I  ?  What  could  I  have  had  to  do 
with  it?  "  came  at  last  from  the  older  in  a  chok 
ing  whisper. 

"  Everything,"  half -sobbed  the  other  in  her 
bitterness.  "  All  your  life,  all  your  thoughts, 
all  your  narrowness  was  opposed  to  it.  And  I 
have  always  been  your  creature — the  slave  of 
your  opinions.  I  obeyed  you — as  I  have  always 
obeyed  you — to  my  despair." 

"  For   God's   sake,   Gwen,   of  what  are  you 


154  FULFILLMENT 

speaking?  How  have  I  ever  influenced  you — 
except  unconsciously — against  any  man?  Your 
accusation  is  cruel  and  childish.  Why  should  I 
stand  between  you  and  the  man  you  love?  " 

"  Because  he  is  married." 

Chaotic  waves  of  light  passed  over  Deborah's 
consciousness.  "  The  dog!  "  she  ground  out  pas 
sionately.  "  The  beast !  The  scoundrel !  " 

"  Hush !  "  commanded  Gwen. 

And  then  it  was  that  Deborah  Heath  became 
lyrical, — the  day  was  destined  to  be  an  epochal 
one  in  Deborah  Heath's  emotions.  She  did  not 
move  from  where  she  stood,  but  she  raised  her 
head  high  in  exultation. 

"  Let  him  go,"  she  said  proudly.  "  What  can 
such  a  man,  without  tradition  or  discipline,  mean 
to  such  as  you  or  I  ?  Let  him  go  his  baneful,  ir 
responsible,  destructive,  egoistic  way!  Such  a 
man  never  gave  a  thought  to  another's  welfare  in 
all  his  life,  if  it  clashed  with  his.  But  let  me 
thank  God,"  her  arms  folded  themselves  trium 
phantly  over  her  bosom,  "  that  you  have  tradi 
tion,  that  you  have  discipline — that  you  are  my 
creature — that  you  are  my  slave — that  you  have 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  SOLOMON     155 

your  limitations — that  I,  Deborah  Heath,  stand 
for  your  limitations,  Gwen  Heath!  " 

The  other  measured  her  ironically,  slowly,  from 
top  to  toe.  "  Don't  you  think,"  she  questioned 
at  last,  "  that  that's  a  queer  thing  to  thank  God 
for — to  hug  one's  self  in  gloating  satisfaction 
over  having  been  the  instrument  of  destruction  of 
another's  happiness  ?  " 

Deborah  looked  straight  into  her  eyes.  "  Look 
at  me,"  she  ordered  quietly.  "  Look  me  squarely 
in  the  face,  and  answer  me,  thoughtfully,  truth 
fully.  Take  your  time — examine  your  heart. 
Do  you  think  that  you — being  what  you  are — 
would  ever  have  been  happy  as  the  mistress  of  an 
other  woman's  husband?  " 

She  waited,  watching  the  convulsive  swallow 
ing  disturbing  the  slender  throat  although  the 
hardened  eyes  continued  to  regard  her  defiantly, 
but  no  answer  came. 

Deborah  came  closer,  bending  over  her  in  the 
intensity  of  her  love.  "  Don't  cheat  yourself, 
Gwen,"  her  restrained  voice  went  on.  "  Such 
oblivion,  such  irresponsible  egoism,  such  a  moral 
perversion,  such  delusive  happiness  is  not  for  the 


156  FULFILLMENT 

highly  sensitized  creature  you  happen  to  be. 
Happiness !  That's  not  the  simple  term  it  seems. 
Yes,  to  conscienceless  creatures,  perhaps, — to 
creatures — slaves  of  their  passions,  perhaps.  Let 
them  be  happy  in  that  way,  if  they  can.  But  you, 
you  would  have  eaten  your  heart  out  with  anguish 
and  regret/' 

Gwen's  eyes  narrowed.  "  Not  with  Austin 
Dane,"  she  said  through  locked  teeth.  She  ut 
tered  the  name  without  hesitancy,  and  Deb  heard 
with  a  sense  of  sickening  defeat. 

"  Nevertheless,"  she  said  in  rough  finality, 
"  you  chose — otherwise.  As  you  make " 

"  No !  "  silenced  the  other  peremptorily.  "  For 
tunately  I  did  not  choose  forever.  Fortunately 
for  the  poor  riff-raff  beneath  your  notice,  such 
as  I,  for  the  scum  of  the  earth  who  are  not  in 
fallible  in  their  sense  of  choice,  human  after 
thought  has  provided  a  human  Amendment  to 
their  Divine  Law." 

''  You  mean — divorce  ?  " 

"What  else?" 

"  And  what  about  the  man  you've  cheated  out 
of  his  hope  of  happiness  ?  " 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  SOLOMON     157 

"  I'm  not  thinking  of  him." 

"  No,  you  are  only  thinking  of  yourself,  you  dis 
honorable  little  egoist !  "  She  caught  her  wrists 
in  a  grip  of  steel,  her  face  distorted  with  anger. 
"  Don't  you  know  that,  unless  you  have  tried  till 
the  ninety-and-ninth  time,  you  dare  not  fling  up 
your  moral  obligations  to  this  blameless  man? 
What  do  these  first  months  of  adjustment  to  each 
other  count  for  in  the  tie  which  every  year  must 
make  deeper  and  holier?  Don't  you  know  that 
unless  you  have  tried  with  all  your  might  and 
with  all  your  soul " 

"  I  have  tried,"  Gwen  broke  forth  chokingly. 
"  I  tried  all  the  way— till  that  day  at  Chartres. 
But — I  can't — crucify — myself."  The  words 
came  singly,  in  deadly  deliberation.  "  I  can 
marry  Austin  Dane  now — he  is  free,  or  will  be, — 
and — I — refuse — to  become — the  mother — of 
any  child — but  the  child  of  the  man  I  love.  I'm 
made  that  way." 

Deborah  recoiled,  helpless,  uncomprehending, 
questioning  her  with  stormy  brow. 

The  face  before  her  seemed  to  grow  sharper 
while  she  searched  it,  more  pointed,  more  utterly 


1 58  FULFILLMENT 

bereft  of  womanhood,  and  her  voice  was  sibilant 
when  she  spoke  further  through  scarcely  parted 
lips. 

"  I  came  home  as  soon  as  I  understood.  I  came 
to  you  because  I  need  your  help — before  I  get  a 
divorce." 

Deborah's  eyes  were  slowly  fixing  in  horror 
and,  as  Gwen  saw  understanding  gathering  be 
hind  the  mobile  brow,  she  enlightened  her  fully  in 
a  lifeless  monotone.  "  I  want  you  to  help  me — 
at  once." 

With  an  appalled  cry,  Deborah  hid  her  eyes 
from  the  sight  of  her.  "Oh,  you — Medusa!" 
her  shuddering  lips  flung  back. 

Gwen  laughed,  a  short,  dreary  sound.  "  Not 
at  all,"  she  pronounced  judicially.  "  Medusa  was 
an  ancient  Greek  myth — I  am  a  very  modern  ma 
terial  reality.  We  moderns  have  learned  a  lot 
since  then.  You,  no  doubt,  know  more  about  it 
than  I  do.  That  should  be  part  of  your  training. 
I  have  only  heard  whispers,  but  all  the  vagueness 
of  it  came  back  to  me  out  there  like  a  flash  of 
hope.  Deb,  Deb,  won't  you  help  me?"  She 
ended  in  a  sharp  cry,  all  her  misery  breaking 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  SOLOMON     159 

through  her  affectations,  her  body  trembling  from 
the  sudden  rupture. 

Slowly  Deborah's  hands  fell,  slowly  she  raised 
her  lids  and  looked  across  at  her  sister.  "  Are 
you  going  to  have  a  little  baby,  Gwen  ?  "  she 
asked  very  simply. 

"  No,"  Gwen  returned  roughly,  "  that's  just 
what  I  don't  intend  to  have, — not  George  Le- 
land's  child." 

"  Oh,  but,"  said  Deborah  dreamily,  ignoring 
the  other's  fierce  protest,  "  I  should  think  it 
would  be  considered  a  sweet  privilege  for  the 
wife  of  George  Leland  to  be  chosen  to  be  the 
mother  of  such  a  man's  children." 

Again  Gwen  gave  the  sharp,  ugly  laugh. 
"  That's  eugenics,"  she  sneered.  "  And  I  don't 
propose  to  pose  as  an  object-lesson  for  the  eugen- 
ists.  That's  not  what  I'm  here  for " 

"  Ah,  Gwen,  7  know  what  you're  here  for ! " 
Deb,  with  the  ringing  cry,  was  standing  with 
arms  outheld,  her  face  strangely  radiant.  "I 
know,  Gwen.  It's  all  been  for  me.  You're  to 
have  your  little  baby — for  me !  " 


160  FULFILLMENT 

In  mystified  attention,  Gwen,  arrested,  gazed 
upon  her  extraordinary  ecstasy. 

"  Don't  you  see,  dearest,"  the  low,  full-toned 
voice  went  on  in  rapt  measure,  "  that  it  is  the 
nearest  I  can  ever  get  to  motherhood?  Your 
child — almost  my  very  own?  I  could  make  be 
lieve  so  easily  with  your  baby,  Gwen  dear.  Will 
you  pay — a  hundredfold — for  the  years — of 
which  I  have  never  spoken — for  my  dead  youth 
which  I  have  buried  deep — oh,  safe  and  quiet  at 
last,  my  darling, — for  the  muted  dreams,  the 
stark,  long,  lone  outlook?  Will  you  give  your 
little  baby  to  me,  Gwen?  " 

Gwen  had  risen,  she  was  coming  toward  her, 
her  hands  outstretched.  "  Deb,"  she  was  saying 
bewilderedly,  "  Deb,  I  never  thought — oh,  Deb, 
I  never  knew " 

But  Deb  had  taken  the  outstretched  hands  and 
drawn  them  gently  to  her  bosom,  she  was  looking 
down  deep  into  the  blurred  eyes  upraised  to  hers. 
"  You  can't  dream  how  I  shall  love  it,  Gwen," 
she  promised.  "  The  tiny,  tiny  feet,  the  litle  cud- 
dley  head,  the  baby  eyes  turned  to  me  alone  for 
help,  the  wonderful  responsibility " 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  SOLOMON     161 

"  But,  Deb  dear,  she's  my  baby !  " 

The  intuitive  cry  pushed  them  asunder  with 
its  thrill.  Gwen's  upturned  face  was  streaming 
with  unnoticed  tears,  and  Deb,  looking  upon  her, 
saw  that  the  wisdom  of  Solomon  had  prevailed. 
The  babbling  of  her  own  long-sealed  fount  of 
crooning  motherhood  had  borne  unforeseen 
fruition.  And  Deb,  falling  precipitately  to  earth 
from  her  one,  unprecedented  sentimental  flight, 
laughed  in  her  heart  over  her  unwitting  subtlety. 

She  put  the  slender,  overwrought  figure  back 
into  the  chair.  "  You  keep  her,  Gwen,"  she 
whispered  gayly,  "  you  keep  her — for  yourself 
and — for  everybody." 

Then,  after  the  speechless  sobbing  had  sub 
sided,  and  the  girl  had  turned  her  face  from  her 
into  the  pillow,  she  stole  lightly  away. 


CHAPTER  XI 
TEKEL! 

WHEN  the  afternoon  light  was  waning,  Debo 
rah  met  George  Leland  in  the  cool  hush  of  the 
hall.  He  turned  from  putting  down  his  hat  and 
coat  and  took  both  her  hands  in  his,  meeting  her 
welcoming  smile  with  a  pale,  stern  regard.  She 
noted  with  a  pang  the  settled  fold  between  his 
brow. 

"  Well,  George?  "  she  said  warmly. 

He  pressed  her  hands.  "  Is  Gwen  here?  "  he 
asked  briefly. 

"  Yes,  she's  asleep.  At  least  she  was  a  few 
minutes  ago  when  I  looked  in.  Let's  go  in  here." 
She  led  the  way  into  the  library,  where  the  quiet 
beauty  of  departing  day  was  filling  the  room  with 
a  pale,  golden  glow.  She  raised  the  blinds  and, 
turning  about,  found  him  standing  stiff  and  up 
right  near  the  door.  She  moved  a  step  toward 
him,  meeting  again  the  peculiar  hard  regard 
which  she  made  no  attempt  to  parry. 
162 


TEKEL!  163 

"  I  know,"  she  said  at  once,  as  if  in  answer  to 
his  comment.  "  I  know  all  about  it." 

"What  do  you  know?" 

"  That  you  and  Gwen  have  not  been  happy." 

"  Happy !  "  He  strode  across  the  room,  where 
he  faced  her  again  in  brusque,  business-like  direct 
ness.  "What's  to  be  the  upshot  of  this?"  he 
asked  gruffly. 

"  Why— I  think  it's  going  to  be  all  right,"  she 
said,  beaming  upon  him. 

"  All  right !  Do  you  know  what  you're  talk 
ing  about?" 

"  I  think  I  do." 

"  And  you  think  hell's  going  to  be  all  right,  do 
you?  Not  if  I  know  it,  Deborah."  His  somber 
eyes  flashed  in  threat. 

"  Not  if — if  everything  is  changed,  George?  " 
she  pleaded  timidly.  Timidity  was  a  new  phase 
of  Deborah  Heath,  and  Leland  did  not  like  it — he 
chafed  under  it. 

"  Bosh.  What's  changed?  Hate  been  turned 
to  love  ? "  he  sneered.  "  Miracles  been  per 
formed?" 

"  Perhaps.     Call  it  miracles." 


.164  FULFILLMENT 

"  Call  it  any  name  you  please,  only  don't  talk 
hieroglyphics  to  a  man  who's  been  on  the  rack 
for  days  and  weeks !  " 

Her  steady  regard  did  not  falter.  '''  You  see, 
George,"  she  said  very  quietly,  "  Gwen's  going  to 
have  a  little  baby." 

His  face  went  blank,  then  the  color  surged, 
surged  in  a  mad  riot  over  it.  He  shook  his  head, 
uncomprehending. 

She  turned  her  eyes  away,  looking  toward  the 
window,  and  went  on  in  the  same  quiet  under 
tone.  "  I  should  not  be  telling  you  this,  but  I 
know  you  will  forgive  the  intrusion, — as  I  know 
you  will  forgive  her.  All  her — unreasonableness 
has  been  due  to  a  certain  form  of  hysteria. 
That's  Dr.  Deb's  diagnosis,  George,  and  though 
you  may  consider  said  Deb  a  quack,  it  doesn't 
need  a  certificate  to  understand  these  symptoms." 
She  moved  over  to  the  window  and  stood  looking 
out  upon  the  sunset  quiet  of  the  streets. 

Absolute  stillness  held  the  room  for  a  space, 
but  presently  she  heard  him  coming  to  her,  and 
she  turned  about.  He  was  quite  pale  and  the  fold 
between  his  brows  seemed  intensified,  but  he  spoke 


TEKEL!  165 

with  perfect  control  of  whatever  perturbation 
he  was  suffering,  or  had  suffered. 

"  You're  quite  sure  of  this,  Deborah  ?  " 

"  Quite  sure,  George." 

"  Then  I  think  I'll  go  to  her,  if  I  may." 

"  Surely.  She's  in  my  room, — you  know  it, 
don't  you?  Don't  forget  she's  asleep." 

He  went  down  and  across  the  hall  with  a  firm, 
quick  step.  Only  at  the  door  he  stood,  hand  on 
knob,  moveless  for  several  seconds.  Then  he 
went  in,  closing  the  door  noiselessly  behind  him. 

She  was  still  asleep  in  the  chair,  her  face 
turned  away,  one  cheek  buried  in  the  chintz 
cushion,  the  other,  white  and  delicate,  half -hid 
den  under  a  fallen  wave  of  her  hair.  She  was 
so  still  that  Leland,  looking  down  upon  her 
graven,  frail  beauty,  felt  a  sudden  shock  of  ter 
ror.  But  that  passed  and  he  seated  himself 
blindly  in  the  chair  standing  near.  The  uncon 
sciousness  of  her  childlike  pose  filled  him  with 
pitying  tenderness,  he  wanted  to  fall  on  his  knees 
and  gather  her  in  his  arms  and  assure  her  of  his 
strength  and  his  power  to  protect  her  from  every 
danger.  Instead,  he  sat  still,  clutching  his  knees, 


166  FULFILLMENT 

regarding  her  with  full  eyes.  And  over  his  face 
crept  the  reflection  of  a  thought,  grave  and  glad, 
stern,  yet  sweet  in  its  secret  triumph 

He  was  startled  to  see,  presently,  that  the  up- 
curling  lashes  shadowing  her  cheek  were  raised, 
that,  though  lying  motionless,  as  if  still  asleep, 
she  was  gazing  open-eyed  before  her.  Without 
moving,  he  watched  the  color  wavering  in  and 
out  of  her  cheek,  watched  a  smile  tremble  to  the 
corner  of  her  mouth  and  brood  there.  She  lay 
strangely  still,  he  thought,  interminably,  till,  with 
a  slight  yawn,  she  turned  over  and  saw  him. 

Instantly  she  sat  erect  and  he  was  on  his  feet, 
looking  down  at  her,  barely  seeing  her. 

"  Deb  told  me,  Gwen,"  he  murmured,  his  hands 
going  out  to  her. 

But  the  quick,  deep  frown  of  her  brows  re 
strained  him.  "  That's  nothing,"  she  said  in 
swift  incoherence.  "  I  mean — it's  nothing  to 
you.  I — I  choose  to  regard  it  as  concerning  me 
alone.  In  fact,  it's  the  only  way  I  can  and  will 
regard  it." 

Minute  after  minute  passed  while  he  stood  con 
sidering  her  words.  "  That's  strange,"  he 


TEKEL!  167 

breathed,  drawing  his  hand  across  his  brow  as  if 
seeking  understanding. 

"  Yes,"  she  agreed  icily. 

"  It  sounds — original,  but  it's  not  very  con 
vincing — or  practical,  is  it?  In  fact,  it's  rather 
absurd." 

The  blood  stormed  to  her  cheeks,  her  eyes 
darkened.  "  You  know,"  she  said,  her  low  voice 
stumbling  in  its  hurry,  "  this  knowledge  is  not  of 
today — to  me.  It  hasn't  altered  my — anything 
between  us,  you  know."  Her  eyes  dropped  to 
her  hands  convulsively  clasped  on  her  knee. 

His  close-pressed  lips  and  set  jaw  vouchsafed 
no  response. 

She  was  compelled,  perforce,  to  continue. 
"  Not  that  that  makes  any  difference — about  its 
practicality  or  practicability.  I  have  discarded 
the  idea  of  a  separation  now,  that  is, — unless  you 
still  wish  it." 

He  continued  to  regard  her  as  if  measuring  her, 
without  sign  of  response  to  her  words. 

She  looked  away,  speaking  more  nervously. 
"  We  have  to  come  to  an  understanding.  Of 
course,  if  you  agree,  we  can  go  on,  conventionally 


1 68  FULFILLMENT 

together,  under  the  same  roof,  as  long  as  it  will 
be  tolerable  for  you.  I  shall  try  my  best — for 
my  child's  sake.  I  think  we  can  bluff  it  out,  don't 
you  ?  Most  lives  are  a  bluff,  you  know,  one  way 
or  another." 

He  fixed  her  then  with  a  long  gaze  to  which 
she  was  forced  to  hold.  "  I  see,"  he  said  at  last, 
laconically.  After  a  pause  he  went  on,  slowly, 
as  if  speech  were  difficult,  thinking  it  all  out  as  he 
proceeded.  "  You've  put  me  in  my  place — ef 
fectually.  What  you  are  seeking  now  is  pro 
tection — nothing  more.  I  see.  Ye-es.  I — think 
— I  want  to  give  you  that.  As  you  suggest,  it's 
the  only  expedient — under  the  circumstances.  I 
shall  do  my  best — as  you  promise — '  to  bluff  it 
out.'  But,  oh,  Gwen,  why  does  it  have  to  be  bluff 
— won't  you  try  for  the  real  thing,  my  love, — 
my  wife, — mother  of  my  child  that  is  to  be?" 

She  shuddered  back  from  the  resistless  out 
burst,  turning  a  white,  relentless  face  from  the 
quivering  passion  of  his. 

He  drew  a  sharp,  painful  breath.  "  I  see,"  he 
said,  his  teeth  ground  together.  "  That's  over. 
Whatever  you  decide  upon  for  domestic  arrange- 


TEKEL!  169 

ments,  goes.  It's  indifferent  to  me.  You  know 
my  income.  I  take  it  this  is  the  commercial  basis 
of  our  continuing  together  during  a  certain  fixed 
period."  He  turned  from  her,  moving  over  to 
the  dressing-table,  where  he  picked  up  a  trinket, 
examining  it  with  unseeing  eyes.  "  From  this 
moment,"  he  added  thickly,  "  I  promise  you  that 
I  shall  cease  to  try  to  win  you.  That  game's  up. 
I  also  promise  not  to  annoy  you  too  much  with 
my  presence  '  under  the  same  roof  '  with  you,  as 
you  put  it.  But,  at  the  same  time,  you  may  as 
well  understand  that  I  am  agreeing  to  this  false 
position  solely  for  the  sake  of  my  child ! " 

At  the  sound  of  the  boyish  retort  she  turned 
her  averted  face  to  meet  the  full  force  of  the  in 
tolerant  hate  of  his  eyes. 

The  faint  smile  died  on  her  lips.  "  I  think," 
she  began,  and  cleared  her  throat  nervously,  "  I 
think  I — I  owe  you  an  explanation.  I  think 
that  in  order  to  make  things — what  I  have  just 
said  to  you — clearer  to  you,  more  pardonable,  if 
you  will,  it  will  be  necessary  for  me  to  tell  you  in 
just  what  frame  of  mind  I  came  home  here. 
I  " — she  cleared  her  throat  again  with  a  little 


170  FULFILLMENT 

nervous  laugh — "  I  find  I  can  bluff  some  things 
out,  and  not  others.  So — I  am  driven  to  tell  you 
— that  I  did  not  intend  to  be — the  mother  of 
your  child."  Her  low  voice  fainted  into  a  deathly 
silence.  Only  the  gigantic  shadows  her  words 
cast  held  the  awful  stillness  of  the  room.  Leland 
did  not  move. 

Then  the  limping  voice  made  an  end  of  explain 
ing.  "  I  was  as  desperate  as  that.  It  was  only — 
only  through  an  unconscious  fluke  of  Deb's — that 
I  have  decided — otherwise.  She  made  me  want 
my  child — for  myself." 

He  veered  fully  upon  her,  understanding  only 
too  well  a  clammy  deadness  touching  him  from 
head  to  foot.  For  a  wild  moment  no  sound  came, 
then  short,  hard  breaths  prefaced  his  attempt  at 
articulation.  "  So,"  he  finally  succeeded  in  say 
ing  drunkenly.  "  So — you're  that  kind  of  a 
woman.  And  I  thought — I  thought  that  you 
were  the  only  one  fit — I  thought  your  beauty 
was  you.  I  loved  you.  Damn  it! — I  loved  you. 
I  won't  ask  you  why  you  married  me.  The  in 
ference  is  too  vilely  obvious.  There  wasn't  one 
fine  impulse  in  the  whole  act.  But  all  the  same — 


TEKEL!  171 

all  the  same — you  can  see  what  you've  done  to 
me.  You  can  see — that  you've  said  the  most 
brutal  thing  a  woman  can  say  to  a  man."  He 
stopped  to  catch  his  gasping  breath  before  he 
could  go  on  in  the  outpouring  of  his  bitter  dis 
illusionment.  "  Ever  since  I  have  known  you,  I 
have  wanted  to  tell  you  about — about  the  one 
wonderful  thing  that  has  been  in  my  life.  But 
I  never  could.  But  today — now — when  I  came 

in  here — I  thought  the  moment  had  come 

Now  I  know  why  I  have  never  been  able  to. 
You — you  with  your  heavenly  face — you  are  not 
worthy !  " 

She  sat  stupefied  under  the  labored  lashings  of 
his  denunciation.  A  terrible  trembling  took  her 
as  he  finished,  she  wanted  to  answer,  to  refute 
his  estimate  of  her,  but  the  egoistic  joy  of  im 
pulsive,  free  speech  was  to  be  hers  no  longer. 
Life  had  suddenly  grown  complex  for  her.  She 
saw  herself  as  she  was  in  his  eyes,  but  she  saw 
more. 

She  turned  up  to  him  a  white,  proud  face. 
"  Anyway,"  she  said  finally,  very  low,  but  dis 
tinctly,  "  anyway,  I  shall  be  worthy  of  my  child.*' 


BOOK  II 
THE  MOTHER 

"  What  of  the  way  to  the  end?— The  end  crowns  all !  "• 

BROWNING. 


A  FRAGMENT 

I  SAID  to  him,  "  I  shall  be  worthy  of  my  child  " 
(she  wrote  in  the  little  black  book).  And  I 
will. 

I  write  this  down — as  record  of  my  itinerary 
thither — for  visual  reckoning,  as  good  house 
wives  are  wont  to  keep  account  of  expenditures 
for  their  own  personal  satisfaction.  I  shall  write 
from  time  to  time — not  from  day  to  day.  I  shall 
hold  reviews.  And  I  shall  hold  the  record  up 
before  the  eye  of  my  conscience  as  a  cat-o'-nine 
tails  goad  to  keep  me  to  my  boast.  That  makes 
me  laugh:  as  though  I  need  a  goad! 

And  there  shall  be  no  expenditure, — it  shall  be 
all  income.  Like  a  miser,  I  shall  hoard  the  gold 
of  my  soul  as  it  drifts  in, — or  is  it  only  up? — 
to  consciousness, — like  a  miser,  I  shall  count  it 
over,  and  over,  and  over, — to  make  sure  that  I 
am  proving  him  wrong.  I  shall  be  worthy  of  my 
child. 

175 


176  FULFILLMENT 

And  if  one  is  worthy  of  one's  child  is  not  that 
being  worthy  of — everything?  Of  anything  he 
could  have  meant  to  tell  me?  I  remember  old 
Carlyle  digging  down  to  the  roots  of  that  word. 
No,  it  was  not  "  worthy,"  it  was  "  worship/' 
"  Worship,"  he  said :  "  Worth-ship."  So,  by  a 
leap  of  will,  and  knowledge  of  power,  I  shall  be 
worthy  the  worship  of  my  child.  I  aim  high.  It 
shall  be  high,  higher,  highest: — Worship. 

I  shall  not  sit  on  throne,  but  in  sanctuary.  There 
are  no  bugles,  no  trumpets.  Only  "  the  still, 
small  voice."  Now  I  know  what  it  means  to  be 
in  communion.  Even  I,  I  so  "  unworthy,"  as  he 
said.  For,  listen, — did  not  the  Dreamer  say, 
"  Cannot  a  great  thought  enter  a  little  room  ? " 
I  am  a  little  room — a  shabby  room — and  unto  me 
a  great  thought  has  entered.  I  lock  the  door.  I 
throw  away  the  key.  My  guest  becomes  my 
prisoner.  But  what  if  my  prisoner  prove  to  be — 
The  Presence?  Then,  in  this  glorious  durance, 
shall  I  not  grow  like  unto  The  Presence  ? — I  shall 
be  worthy  the  worship  of  my  child. 

And  I  record,  as  the  first  quiver  on  the  waiting, 
brooding  silence:  I  no  longer  hate  George  Le- 


A  FRAGMENT  177 

land.  That  which  was  crooked  has  been  made 
straight. 

As  soon  as  I  had  uttered  those  words  to  him, 
hate  fled  from  me.  Or,  rather,  it  faded.  As 
though  a  Hand  had  passed  over  it,  and  it  was  no 
more.  That  was  queer.  Now,  what  was  that 
Hand?  Whose?— I  mean.  Did  I  think,  then  it 
was — God's — that  trite  explanation  of  the  inex 
plicable?  Oh,  no.  I  thought:  I  have  begun. 
And  I  smiled  happily,  as  one  who,  having  burned 
her  bridges  behind  her,  knows  her  Great  Ad 
venture  has  begun.  That  is  a  thrilling  moment — 
"  to  have  begun." 

I  wonder  (I  write  as  the  thoughts  dart  in, 
creep  in,  insinuate  themselves  in),  I  wonder 
whether  his  judging  me  has  made  me  humble, 
and  whether  we  have  changed  places.  I  was 
never  humble  before.  I  was  never  judged  be 
fore.  No  one  ever  expressed  scorn  of  me  before 
— that  is,  no  one  but  myself — and  Deborah  that 
afternoon.  But  Deb  took  it  back, — by  continu 
ing  to  love  me,  she  took  it  back.  So  there  is  only 
George  Leland  to  account  to.  There  is  a  wide 
difference  between  knowing  one's  own  secret  self, 


178  FULFILLMENT 

and  having  another  know  it.  That  is  where  the 
great,  cynical  Disciplinarian  comes  in — Public 
Opinion.  I  used  to  think  only  weaklings  and 
cowards  kotowed  to  it, — now  I  see  that  the  self 
less,  the  responsible, — mothers,  for  instance, — 
crouch  before  it  as  well.  George  Leland's  words 
were  to  me  as  the  voice  of  Public  Opinion  shout 
ing  before  the  thick  walls  of  my  distorted  egoism. 
George  Leland,  through  making  me  crouch,  put 
himself  above  me,  made  himself  my  overlord  for 
one  blinding  moment.  After  that  one  moment 
had  passed,  I  stood  erect,  though  with  a  new 
survey  of  life.  It  was  not  a  servile  one.  No,  I 
am  not  humble.  I  have  hidden  wings. 

That  night  at  the  hotel — he  had  taken  rooms  at 
the  St.  Francis — I  said  to  him  in  a  very  quiet 
spirit,  "  Will  you  help  me  to  find  a  house  to 
morrow?  Don't  you  think  a  furnished  house 
would  be  best  ?  Or  shall  it  be  an  apartment  ?  " 

I  had  come  in  from  my  bedroom  after  taking 
off  my  things,  and  found  him  sitting  in  an  easy- 
chair  reading  the  evening  paper  with  an  air  of 
absorbed  interest.  He  looked  up  at  me  over  the 
edge  of  the  paper  as  I  stood  near  the  table  and 


A  FRAGMENT  179 

seemed  to  be  leisurely  taking  stock  oi  me  or  my 
proposition.  He  was  quite  cool.  He  has  cast  off 
a  thrall. 

"  I  have  no  ideas  on  the  subject,'*  he  said  care 
lessly.  "  Please  yourself."  But,  upon  second 
thought,  he  added,  "  Only  be  sure  there's  a 
garage." 

I  would  not  take  this  as  a  dismissal,  neither 
would  I  sit  down,  but  I  wanted  to  be  sure  of  his 
wishes.  "  Then  I  think  a  small  house  would  be 
pleasantest,  don't  you?"  I  asked  tentatively. 

"  It's  all  the  same  to  me.  Get  the  lists  from 
the  real  estate  people.  Would  you  like  me  to  get 
them  for  you  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  I  wish  you  would, — in  the  morn 
ing,  so  as  not  to  waste  time.  And  there  are  sev 
eral  woman  agents  who  have  the  finer  homes.  I 
can  telephone  to  them." 

He  made  no  comment.  I  do  not  know  whether 
he  was  really  reading,  or  studiously  avoiding  me. 
It  was  only  a  few  hours  after — what  had  hap 
pened  in  Deb's  room  at  home.  His  face  looked 
gray  and  hard,  as  though  an  icy  blast  had  just 
passed  over  him  leaving  him  gaunt  and  bare.  I, 


i8o  FULFILLMENT 

in  my  madness,  had  devastated  his  soul.  I,  in  my 
frenzied  "  honesty,"  had  denuded  him  of  youth. 

The  ugly  truth  confronted  me  abruptly. 
"  Good-night,"  I  said,  and  turned  away. 

He  made  some  sound  in  response  but  did  not 
stand  up,  until,  just  as  I  reached  the  door,  I 
heard  the  dry  rustling  of  the  paper  and  his  ar 
resting  voice. 

"  Oh, — one  minute,"  he  called  in  a  frigid  tone. 

I  turned  about,  waiting.  He  was  standing 
now,  facing  me,  one  hand  in  his  pocket,  the 
other  still  grasping  his  paper. 

"  About  money,"  he  said.  (Ever  since,  a  sick 
feeling  comes  over  me  at  sound  or  sight  of  the 
word.)  "I'll  get  a  check-book  for  you  in  the 
morning  and " 

I  stood  stupefied  a  moment  as  I  saw  him  com 
ing  toward  me,  a  wad  of  bank  bills  in  his  hand. 
"  Thanks,  I  have  plenty,"  I  managed  to  get  out 
before  he  reached  me.  "  Good-night !  "  And  I 
fled,  closing  the  door  between  us. 

It  was  nothing, — it  was  everything, — that  en 
counter.  It  held  the  whole  bitter  degradation  of 
a  marriage  for  money,  in  a  nutshell.  It  fixed 


A  FRAGMENT  181 

us  in  our  relative  positions — he  the  benefactor;  I 
the  beneficiary.  I  stood  on  the  rack,  at  the  other 
side  of  the  door.  I  said,  crazily  enough  to  my 
self,  "  I  believe  in  the  French  dower  system.  I 
believe  in  the  French  dower  system."  I  said  it 
over  and  over,  but  it  did  not  solve  for  me  the 
problem  of  the  moment.  Wave  upon  wave  of 
excitement  swept  over  me  but  left  me  no  nearer 
a  solution. 

And  then — I  must  write  down  my  humiliations 
as  well  as  my  triumphs — I  wrenched  open  the 
door  between  us  and  flashed  in  upon  him,  like 
a  fury,  I  suppose,  though  I  struggled  to  appear 
calm.  Curiously,  I  noted  afterward,  he  was 
standing  exactly  where  I  had  left  him,  but  in  my 
loss  of  self-control,  I  know  I  did  not  clearly  see 
him. 

"  I've  made  a  mistake,"  I  stammered.  "  I 
can't  do  it.  I'm  going  away.  I  can't  accept 
your  money.  I'm  going  to  Deb.  I'll  find  some 
thing  to  do.  I  know  you'll  be  glad.  It  will  be 
better  for  both  of  us.  I  was  crazy  to  think  such 
things  can  be  arranged  in  that  way.  I  couldn't 
endure  it.  We're  nothing  to  each  other.  Why 


182  FULFILLMENT 

didn't  yoa  show  me  the  folly  of  it  at  once  ?  Why 
did  you  let  me  humiliate  myself  with  such  a 
proposition  ?  Was  it  out  of  revenge — or  hate  ?  " 

He  stood  motionless,  letting  me  spend  myself, 
and  then,  just  as  I  felt  a  torrent  of  tears  storm 
ing  up  to  further  expose  my  misery,  he  began  to 
speak,  very  deliberately,  in  a  gray,  even  tone, 
gray  and  expressionless  as  his  face.  "  You  are 
over-excited,"  he  said.  "  There  is  no  question 
about  your  going  away.  There  can't  be.  And  as 
to  your  not  '  taking  my  money,' — that's  non 
sense.  Any  court  would  assure  you  of  that,  and 
any  sensible  person.  Try  to  accept  that  view,  be 
cause  it's  the  only  view  possible.  I  intend  caring 
for  my  child — now  and  always.  That  determina 
tion  does  away  with  the  idea  of  separation, 
doesn't  it?" 

I  shook  my  head,  gulping  down  my  tears,  but 
he  ignored  my  speechless  denial,  his  voice  mov 
ing  steadily  on.  "  At  any  rate,  you  don't  need  to 
worry  about  the  immediate  future.  In  all  prob 
ability,  I'll  go  to  London  now,  as  first  arranged, 
instead  of  Sargent,  to  investigate  that  deal  an 
English  syndicate  is  negotiating  with  us  in  re- 


A  FRAGMENT  183 

gard  to  our  Coalinga  holdings.  That  may  take 
months.  Then,  we're  installing  storage  and  pipe 
lines  in  different  fields.  As  traffic  manager,  I'll 
be  out  of  the  city  a  good  deal.  Under  those  con 
ditions,  a  formal  separation,  would,  I  think,  be 
superfluous.  I  think  it's  an  experiment  worth 
trying  for  the  present,  don't  you?  Of  course  it 
may  resolve  itself  into  my  staying  away  alto 
gether.  But  afterwards, — my  child  is  mine,  you 
understand."  His  voice  and  face  had  suddenly 
turned  inexorable,  and  I  grew  sick  with  fear, 
closing  my  eyes  a  second  in  recognition  of  his 
unknowableness. 

"Shall  we  call  a  truce?"  I  heard  him  say 
with  I-don't-know-what  of  authoritative  reason 
ableness,  almost  gentle  in  its  calm. 

"  Thank  you,"  I  answered,  trying  to  smile,  and, 
with  a  vague  inclination  of  the  head  in  good 
night,  I  crept  blindly  into  the  other  room. 

Once  there,  with  the  door  closed,  I  leaned  my 
head  against  the  hard  casing,  waiting  for  the  ex 
citement  to  subside  from  my  trembling  limbs. 

Of  course  he  was  right  from  every  practical 
view-point  and,  dully,  I  began  to  calculate  from 


184  FULFILLMENT 

his  view-point,  mine  being  exalte  and,  therefore, 
out  of  reason.  It  would  be  better  for  the  child. 
I  could  regard  myself  as  the  keeper  of  his  house. 
As  the  keeper  of  his  house  I  was  entitled  to  some 
sort  of  wage.  It  could  be  arranged  according  to 
a  fixed  allowance.  I  could  say  to  him,  "  I  can 
run  your  house  for  you  upon  so  much,"  naming 
the  minimum,  after  a  little  experience.  Besides, 
he  had  himself  declared,  "  I  am  agreeing  to  this 
false  position  solely  for  the  sake  of  my  child." 
Then  the  question  was  settled  upon  these  recipro 
cal  considerations.  Was  it?  I  drew  a  hard 
breath  over  the  conclusion  to  my  sordid  sophistry. 

No! — I  was  strong.  Why  could  I  not  go 
out  into  the  world  of  toil  and  do — what?  for 
her? 

Because — I  took  a  firm  grasp  of  the  situation, 
looking  it  squarely  in  the  face — because,  first  of 
all,  I  had  not  been  trained  for  any  useful  occu 
pation.  I  would  never  throw  myself  upon  Deb's 
extravagant  love,  facing  the  uncertainty  of  a 
future,  already  mortgaged  and,  without  voca 
tional  training, — and  a  child  to  support, — I  would 
be  that  sorry  figure,  a  woman  striving  to  eke  out 


A  FRAGMENT  185 

a  meager  existence  through  some  amateurish 
work  provided  her  by  the  charity  of  her  friends. 
The  bitter  sordidness  entered  like  an  instrument 
of  torture  into  my  uncontrollable  imagination. 
I  hated  sordidness — my  intense  hatred  for  it  had 
brought  me  to  this  very  issue.  And  along  with 
the  vision  came  the  uncontrovertible  realization 
that,  whatever  sustenance  might  accrue,  it,  too, 
would  be  at  the  price  of  independence — I  would 
be  dependent  on  the  kindness  of  the  stranger  pub 
lic  instead  of  that  of  the  man  acknowledgedly 
responsible. 

And  here  I  register  a  vow :  my  daughter — I 
know  I  shall  have  a  daughter — shall  be  trained 
for  some  vocation,  some  vocation  always  in  de 
mand,  beautiful  if  possible,  useful,  if  she  shows 
no  other  bent.  (Solely  for  your  happiness,  my 
beloved.  Your  mother,  whose  experience  has 
been  other,  provides  you  with  this  accident- 
insurance  policy!) 

So  much  for  my  own  limitations. 

Secondly,  dared  I  sell  my  child's  worldly  ad 
vantages  and  opportunities  to  satisfy  my  personal 
dignity?  And,  thirdly,  he  claims  the  right  to 


i86  FULFILLMENT 

provide  for  his  child  as  he  sees  fit — and,  with  the 
child,  of  necessity,  for  her  prospective  mother. 

I  stood  lost  in  rapid  thought,  accepting,  reject 
ing,  in  flashing  succession,  arguments  both  for 
and  against  his  inflexible  ultimatum,  cynically 
aware  of  mixed  motives  in  either  decision.  And 
the  upshot  was,  I  chose  the  obvious  good — and 
with  it,  the  line  of  least  resistance !  Yet  flippancy, 
all  sense  of  humor — my  former  ready  weapon — 
had  altogether  deserted  me.  If,  for  a  second,  it 
vaguely  insinuated  itself,  it  was  in  anticipation 
of  other  people's  ignorant  sense  of  proportion — 
not  of  my  own.  And  above  the  oppression  of  my 
resolution  I  raised  my  head  with  a  dauntless 
will,  swearing  never  to  allow  myself  to  grow 
embittered — for  my  child's  sake. 

And  with  that  impulsive  oath,  I  took  a  step 
across  the  room.  Behold — a  miracle !  I  was  not 
cast  in  lead.  I  was  light,  I  was  swift,  I  was  free. 
I  raised  my  arms  above  my  head — I  felt  their 
perfect,  easy  strength.  I  swayed  this  way  and 
that — laughing  at  my  fitness,  at  the  consciousness 
of  joyous  health  leaping  through  my  entire  being. 
What  a  gift  I  could  give  my  child!  What  a 


A  FRAGMENT  187 

glorious  inheritance!  If,  dimly,  another's 
shadow  moved  before  me,  it  did  not  detract  from 
my  supreme  self -exultation,  but  far  off,  far  off  in 
the  phantasms  of  the  future,  I  made  out  a  waver 
ing  picture,  and  I  know  that  I  shall  move  toward 
it  through  the  intervening  mists,  as  to  a  goal. 
But  I  cannot  write  it  down. 

Comfort,  benignant,  untroubled,  stole  drow 
sily  over  me.  I  sank  into  a  chair,  letting  my  face 
fall  within  my  encircling  arms,  as  a  child  seeks 
not  only  rest,  but  oblivion.  (I  saw  a  baby  cuddle 
that  way  once  under  its  mother's  arm  before  fall 
ing  asleep — so  cunning,  so  cunning!) 

Words  passed  before  me  like  a  pageant,  iron 
words,  words  long  since  cast  from  out  the  fiery 
furnace  of  my  life's  experience  and  assuming  the 
shape  of  Fates — indifferent,  without  design,  yet 
designing  all: 

Deborah — Order. 

Father — Beauty. 

Deborah — Indulgence. 

Heights — Ideals. 

Love — Death. 

Chaos — Order. 


i88  FULFILLMENT 

Mother — Creator. 

Responsibility — Beauty — 

Beauty  with  grave  mien — holy  beauty,  inspir 
ing  beauty,  beauty  like  music,  not  Greek  music, — 
Hebrew  music,  deep,  grand,  leaving,  as  it  passed, 
echoes  of  hallelujahs,  hallelujahs  of  praying 
mothers,  uplifted,  on  bended  knees. 


I  said  to  myself,  "  I  shall  look  forward,  and 
not  back." 

There  was  a  short  period  in  my  life,  not  long 
ago,  when  that  which  was  straight  and  fine  in 
me  became  bent,  and  I  went  forward  with  soul 
turned  earthward,  seeking  earthly  things.  I  did 
not  try  to  straighten  up.  I  applauded  the  deform 
ity. — Cover  the  figure!  Look  away! 

I  shall  be  the  woman  of  today,  not  of  yester 
day.  If  I  look  back  I  shall  be  like  Lot's  wife,  a 
pillar  of  bitterness,  moveless — self-condemned. 
I  have  a  life  to  live — I  cannot  stand  looking  back 
ward.  I  will  not  be  condemned — I  who  have 
straightened  up.  I  escape  from  memory.  When 
the  woman  of  yesterday  approaches  me,  subtly, 


A  FRAGMENT  189 

unannounced,  like  a  ghost  out  of  shadows,  sud 
denly,  silently,  like  a  thief  in  the  night,  I  will 
close  my  eyes,  I  will  not  see  her,  I  will  not  ac 
knowledge  her.  I  am  not  that  woman.  When 
certain  letters  come  with  their  firm,  bold  hand 
writing  flaring  my  married  name  in  my  face,  I 
shall  destroy  them  unopened — as  I  did  the  one 
which  came  today.  When  a  name  sounds,  un 
heard,  like  a  far-away  trumpet  call,  I  will  close 
my  ears,  lest  the  bitter  flood  pass  over  me.  I 
will  name  no  name — not  even  in  my  heart. 
Nevermore.  One  can  do  that.  If  one  tries  very 
hard  one  can  annihilate  one  of  one's  selves  with 
out  sinking  into  Nirvana.  All  one  requires  to  do 
is  to  keep  one's  eyes  set  steadily  forward  to  the 
goal.  With  each  creative  moment  I  become  more 
like  the  woman  I  would  be.  And  I  believe  that, 
in  time,  others  will  so  know  me.  If  not,  it  must 
suffice  that  I — and  my  child — shall  know. 

But  George  Leland  will  never  know  me  so.  He 
does  not  know  that  I  have  straightened  up.  When 
he  looks  at  me  he  sees  only  that  other  one.  That 
other  one  is  stamped  indelibly  on  the  retina  of  his 
eye,  and  that  stamping  has  also  graven  strange 


190  FULFILLMENT 

lines  upon  his  face.  When  he  looks  at  me  I  can 
see  that  other  one  on  the  retina  of  his  eye.  What 
is  she  like,  that  other  one  ?  She  is  a  woman  with 
a  flaming  brand  which  has  burnt  and  bent  her 

soul.    His  child ! 

I  have  murdered  his  youth.  Hush — sh — sh 

He  never  forgets  it — not  for  one  minute.  And 
because  he  holds  her  there  and  will  not  let  her 
go,  whenever  he  looks  at  me  he  forces  me  to  look 
upon  her  too.  He  does  not  know  that  she  is  dead. 
And  I  cannot  step  over  her  body  to  him.  He 
will  not  let  me.  Yet  he  stands  by  his  flag  of 
truce,  and  there  is  no  warfare. 

The  morning  after  our  return  I  looked  out  of 
the  window,  and  behold!  Window  ledges,  far 
as  eye  could  see,  flagstaffs,  Union  Square,  all 
gay  with  streaming  gonfalons  and  banners  in  scar 
let  and  gold,  thousands  of  Japanese  lanterns  in 
orange  and  red  strung  from  high  pole  to  high 
pole,  and  a  stately  joy-boat  with  a  pagoda-like 
canopy  amidships  for  the  reception  of  royalty.  It 
is  Portola  week.  Through  the  vaporous,  pearly 
curtain  of  sun-shot  fog,  I  could  see  the  crowds 
standing,  waiting  transfixed,  like  a  dream  army. 


A  FRAGMENT  191 

Presently,  amidst  boom  of  cannon  and  aerial 
bombs,  fanfare  of  trumpets  and  martial  music, 
the  curtain  of  pearl  rolled  aside,  rent  by  the  sun 
and,  as  at  some  mighty  signal,  onward  from  the 
Embarcadero,  came  Balboa — king  of  the  day — 
and  his  marching  hosts.  Oh,  the  sight  of  marching 
men,  and  the  sound  of  marching  music,  moving 
onward,  onward,  as  toward  some  high  emprise, — 
oh,  silent,  marching  souls  moving  silently  onward 
to  the  strains  of  your  own  silent  hero  music,  my 

soul  shouts  its  companionship  with  you 

I  watched  till  the  pageant  had  passed,  till,  with 
the  resumption  of  traffic,  came  flowers  to  my 
rooms,  box  after  box  of  glorious,  long-stemmed 
chrysanthemums  and  roses,  and  baskets  of  au 
tumn  fruits, — figs,  white  and  black,  bursting  with 
honey,  trailing  clusters  of  golden,  sun-browned, 
purple,  and  wine-red  grapes — wealth  of  our  sun- 
drunk  land — a  royal  welcome.  News  of  our  ar 
rival  had  traveled  fast,  and  almost  simultaneously 
with  Mabel  Goddard's  roses  came  her  voice  at  the 
telephone — very  crisp,  very  light,  instantly  recall 
ing  our  last  meeting,  the  day  of  my  wedding, 
when  the  veiled  look  in  her  eyes  and  the  tone  of 


192  FULFILLMENT 

her  voice  had  spoken  like  asterisks  in  a  book: 
Frank  had  met  George  on  'Change  yesterday — 
so  glad  we  were  back — sooner  than  we  had 
planned,  wasn't  it? — and  wouldn't  we  dine  with 
them  this  evening  and  go  to  the  ball  at  the  Fair 
mont  afterward? 

A  ball?  The  word  had  a  foreign  sound,  as 
though  I  had  journeyed  far  and  away  from  its 
orbit,  yet  I  think  I  gave  no  perceptible  sign  of 
the  wrench  back  to  her  plane  when  I  accepted  her 
invitation  with  thanks,  and  the  proviso  that 
George  would  care  to  go. — Oh,  she  had  already 
spoken  to  George  and  he  would  be  delighted,  if 
it  pleased  me. — So  it  was  arranged  and,  with  a 
few  graceful  nothings,  we  separated. 

George  would  be  delighted.  I  put  my  hands 
to  my  burning  cheeks.  No  doubt  he  had  seized 
the  invitation  as  a  deliverance.  No  doubt  the 
sound  of  Mabel's  voice  had  been  balm  to  his  ears. 
My  eyes  burned,  like  my  cheeks,  with  the  remem 
brance  of  his  remembrances  of  me,  but  I  literally 
and  resolutely  closed  them  against  the  flaying  in 
trusion, — had  I  not  sworn  to  keep  my  gaze  turned 
forward?  Ah,  but  the  strain  is  like  the  curb  of 


A  FRAGMENT  193 

the  pillory ! — For  the  first  time  a  vague  question 
— yet  the  thought  was  too  fleeting  to  formulate 
a  question — touched  my  knowledge  of  Mabel's 
feeling  for  George.  But  I  closed  my  eyes  to  that 
too — what  right  have  I  to  question  ? — and,  a  few 
minutes  later,  he  came  in  with  some  lists  from  the 
real  estate  agents. 

"  Mabel  just  telephoned/'  I  said,  "  about  this 
evening.  She  said  you  said  you  would  be  glad 
to  go,  so  I  accepted." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  assented  carelessly  enough,  put 
ting  the  papers  on  the  table.  "  The  ball  promises  to 
be  very  gay, and  you  like  those  things, don't  you?" 

Why  should  I  tell  him  that  "  those  things  "  had 
become  peculiarly  meaningless  and  remote  to  me, 
with  his  strong  inclination  to  go  staring  me  in 
the  face?  "  It  will  be  pleasant,"  I  assured  him, 
and  straightway  felt  better  for  the  simple  eva 
sion.  The  immediate  outlook  helped  to  clear  the 
atmosphere  too, — there  were  trunks  to  unpack, 
flowers  to  be  ordered. — How  the  little  neces 
sities  of  the  moment  push  the  big,  abiding  facts 
into  the  background ! 

He  referred  to  the  house-lists  as  he  was  going 


194  FULFILLMENT 

out  again.  "  I  don't  want  to  interfere  with  your 
plans,  but  hadn't  you  better  get  Deborah  to  go 
with  you  ?  "  he  suggested,  turning  at  the  door. 

"  Deborah  is  busy,  you  know.  I'm  not  afraid 
to  go  alone. "  I  found  myself  answering  com 
posedly,  keenly  conscious  of  the  loosened  ten 
sion. 

"  That's  foolish.  You  don't  want  to  be  going 
into  vacant  houses  alone.  And  you'll  take  a  taxi, 
of  course." 

"Oh,  no,"  I  said  hurriedly.  "I'm  used  to 
the  street  cars,  and  I'll  enjoy " 

He  frowned  in  quick  annoyance.  "  Nonsense," 
he  said  shortly.  "  I  intend  seeing  about  a  car 
as  soon  as  I  can,  but  in  the  meanwhile " 

I  felt  the  still  rebellious  blood  rushing  to  my 
face  as  I  rushed  to  say,  "  Please  don't  think  of 
a  car  for  me.  I  couldn't  use  it." 

"  Why  not?  "  he  demanded  forthrightly,  hold 
ing  my  troubled  eyes  with  his  frowning  ones. 

I  could  not  speak  the  one  word  crowding  to 
my  lips,  I  would  not  brand  myself  anew  with  my 
spoken  thought.  I  strove  to  make  him  under 
stand  with  my  held  eyes. 


A  FRAGMENT  195 

And  he  did,  flushing  darkly.  "  That's  quite 
ridiculous,"  he  refuted  whatever  he  had  glimpsed. 
"  I've  always  run  a  car  and  there's  no  reason  for 
my  not  having  someone  on  hand  to  run  it  when 
I'm  not  around.  Economically  there's  no  reason, 
and — I  can't  find  the  word,  but  no  doubt  you  can 
supply  it — and  there's  no  other  ground  for  your 
objecting." 

I  looked  beyond  him,  submitting.  He  went  off 
almost  immediately. 

In  the  eyes  of  the  world,  he  meant  to  say,  I  am 
his  wife.  Accepting  that  status,  I  must  live  in 
accordance.  But  I  alone  hold  the  key  to  the  truth 
and  the  proper  nomenclature  for  the  luxurious 
life  he  insists  upon  as  the  only  rational  one.  I 
am  Mrs.  George  Leland.  Erase  that  unseen  word. 
Be  quietly  matter-of-fact — as  he  is.  Gwen  Heath 
matter-of-fact?  Surely,  struggler,  surely. 

I  did  not  take  the  taxi,  but  dear  Mrs.  Harrison 
went  with  me  on  my  house-hunting  chase.  And 
the  chase  is  already  ended,  the  house  found.  It 
is  the  Ellery  house,  that  small,  red-brick  Colonial 
home  overrun  with  Virginia  creeper,  standing  on 
its  high  Pacific  Avenue  corner,  overlooking  the 


196  FULFILLMENT 

encircling  waters.  It  has  always  seemed  so  dis 
tinguished,  yet  so  darling  to  me.  Surely  the  face 
of  a  house  has  a  personality.  And  the  interior 
bore  out  the  expression  of  the  exterior.  It  con 
quered  me  as  soon  as  I  entered  the  broad,  dark- 
paneled  hall  with  its  stately,  white-balustraded 
stairway,  inviting  one  on  and  up.  There  was 
a  sense  of  expectancy,  of  waiting,  in  the  air, 
which  excited  me  strangely.  It  could  not  have 
been  only  my  own  mood.  And  when  I  reached 
that  one  wonderful  suite  with  its  quaint  dainti 
ness  of  detail,  the  warm,  burnished  snugness  of 
the  sitting-room,  and — leading  from  that — the 
deep  sun-porch  looking  south  and  west, — I  knew 
I  had  reached  haven,  I  knew  that  here  I  was  to 
dream  my  dream — I  knew  that  my  baby  would 
sleep  upon  that  porch. 

We  shall  have  to  wait  at  least  a  week  until 
it  is  put  in  order. 

My  house  in  order ! 

I  think  of  Deborah  with  her  well-ordered 
life 

And  so  we  dined  at  Mabel  Goddard's  and  went 
to  the  ball  afterwards — was  it  only  last  night? 


A  FRAGMENT  197 

The  Palissers  were  there,  brilliant  and  flippant, 
the  Daytons,  good  clacquers,  and  Sally  Lane,  and 
Larry  Martin.  Mabel  greeted  me  with  gracious 
lightness  as  she  might  any  slight  acquaintance. 
The  artificial  front  to  our  old  intimacy  is  fixed 
now.  I  noticed  the  quiet  joy  with  which  she  and 
George  met.  So  let  it  be. 

For  the  first  time  I  heard  the  frank  conversa 
tion  of  modern  married  society — with  a  young 
girl  and  a  bachelor  present.  There  was  no  sub 
ject  too  delicate,  or  indelicate,  for  discussion  or 
comment.  The  sex  question  was  the  hub  around 
which  revolved  all  interest.  Sally  Lane  aired 
her  views  most  gallantly.  They  seemed  agreed 
that  there  is  no  fixed  standard  for  morality. 
There  couldn't  be.  Life  is  too  mixed,  too  com 
plex.  Therefore,  the  spirit  of  laissez-aller  was 
the  only  logical  and  merciful  wear.  Of  course 
there  were  some  female  marplots  with  hysterical 
consciences  trying  to  set  a  congenitally  crooked 
world  straight  by  enacting  laws — legislative  sur 
gery — which  only  robs  Peter  to  pay  Paul — and 
the  novels — and  the  plays, — most  particularly  the 
plays.  Of  course  everybody  had  read  Brieux's 


i98  FULFILLMENT 

preachment.  An  eye-opener,  eh?  Oh,  yes,  to 
many.  But,  after  all,  such  writings  and  plays 
reach  only  a  certain  class,  while  the  masses 

Here  Mabel  broke  in  with  curious  roughness, 
"  Well,  that's  the  point.  What's  to  prevent  the 
certain  class,  who  read  and  see  and  know,  from 
going  out  and  teaching  those  who  don't  read  or 
see  or  know?  " 

"  The  newspapers  do  that,"  pacified  Mrs.  Palis- 
ser  with  a  twinkling  eye.  "  With  the  classes — 
as  with  the  individual — charity  should  begin  at 
home." 

I  saw  George,  who  sat  next  Mabel,  change  his 
listening  attitude  abruptly.  "  It  takes  something 
more  than  knowledge  to  produce  virtue,"  he  said 
dryly. 

Palisser  laughed.  "  Now  we're  going  to  get 
the  straight  goods." 

"What's  that?"  asked  Miss  Lane  with  shin 
ing,  intent  eyes,  her  elbows  on  the  table  in  an 
attitude  of  inexhaustible  enjoyment. 

I  found  myself  concentrating  on  what  he  was 
about  to  say,  but,  with  a  sharp  glance  at  Sally 
Lane's  interested  face,  he  gave  a  slight  nod  to- 


A  FRAGMENT  199 

ward  Palisser  and  merely  said,  "  Ask  Palisser 
what  he  means  by  '  the  straight  goods/ — that'll 
answer  you." 

I  understood  him  intuitively  and  my  heart  beat 
hard  and  fast  in  vague  partisanship,  but  his  sug 
gestion  being  out  of  line  with  the  spirit  of  the 
moment  the  question  laughed  itself  out  in  a  lively 
argument  over  the  graces  and  disgraces  of  the 
new  dances.  Once,  during  the  discussion,  in 
which  I  took  no  part,  I  caught  a  furtive  glance 
from  him  and  wished  myself  miles  away,  as,  I 
believe,  he  knew.  I  believe  in  restraints,  con 
versational  as  well  as  temperamental.  I  believe 
that  modesty  does  make  for  morality  and  vice 
versa.  And  I  knew,  with  a  sense  of  amusement, 
that,  had  the  garb  of  my  mind  been  suddenly 
revealed,  it  would  have  appeared  dowdy  and 
"  quaint  "  as  a  Quaker's,  among  all  this  smart 
modernity. 

Larry  Martin  cornered  me  in  the  music-room 
before  leaving  for  the  ball.  He  and  I  had  been 
gayly  congenial  in  that  now  dim  period,  just  be 
fore  my  marriage,  when  I  had  played  at  Empire- 
making.  I  had  reveled  in  his  clever  cynicisms, 


200  FULFILLMENT 

delighting  in  my  own  Rolands  for  his  Olivers, 
but  now,  face  to  face  with  his  lean,  keen  linea 
ments  and  inscrutable  eyes, — remembering,  with 
more  enlightened  vision,  the  coupling  of  his  name 
with  Mrs.  Farwell's, — I  wondered  how  I  could 
ever  have  enjoyed  anything  so  world- worn  and 
disgruntled.  A  passion  for  youth  and  freshness 
was  upon  me,  for  a  world  of  people  glad  with 
the  bloom  of  springtime, — and  the  atmosphere 
about  me  was  stifling. 

"  You  don't  inhabit  these  parts,  do  you?  "  he 
said  to  me.  He  was  leaning  against  the  end  of 
the  piano  and  so  looked  down  at  me  where  I  sat 
running  my  fingers  over  the  keys. 

"  Surely,"  I  answered.    "  I've  come  back." 

"  You  couldn't  come  back,  never  having  been 
here  before.  You're  not  a  native — you  don't  even 
speak  the  language." 

"  But  I  understand  it,"  I  assured  him  quietly 
with  a  smileless  regard,  "  and " 

"  Hate  it." 

I  let  my  gaze  wander  from  him,  still  idly  play 
ing  my  running  chords. 

"  Naturally,"  he  persisted,  speaking  in  a  low, 


A  FRAGMENT  201 

partly  bantering,  partly  serious  tone  to  the  ac 
companiment  of  the  notes.  "  You  always  did. 
Only  now,  more  so.  Which  is  singular. 
'  Clothed  on  in  chastity.'  I  shall  never  forget. 
You  burst  like  a  beautiful  epoch  into  my — into 
most  of  our — thoughts.  What  is  that  new  look 
of  abstraction  on  your  face,  Lady  Poeticus?  " 

"  Poeticus  ?  "  I  repeated  icily. 

"  In  that  slim,  white  shimmer  of  a  gown.  The 
flower,  you  know,  with  its  small  white  wings  held 
backward,  ready  for  flight.  There's  the  flight  in 
your  face." 

I  laughed,  glad  to  be  able  to.  "  You're  keen," 
I  said  lightly.  "  And  I  prefer  your  insight  to 

your  poetry — that's  drivel I'm  sure  your 

ragging  will  be  better  timed." 

He  did  not  answer  me  and,  glancing  up  with 
forbidding  brows,  I  found  him  looking  down  at 
me  very  insistently,  very  disconcertingly.  And 
at  that  moment  George  appeared  in  the  doorway 
and  the  mere  sight  of  him  gave  me  a  strange, 
nervous  feeling  of  relief,  and  Larry  Martin's  sur 
prising  manner  toward  me  ceased  to  trouble 
me. 


202  FULFILLMENT 

The  ball  was  brilliant.  The  music — I  cannot 
describe  the  mad  abandon  of  the  dance  music  of 
today — but  I  am  sure  it  is  the  throbbing  rhythm 
of  the  music,  not  the  motion  of  the  dancers, 
that  lends  the  greater  part  of  the  intoxication. 

I  danced  only  once — with  Larry  Martin,  who 
alone  insisted  upon  keeping  me  to  my  promise, — 
and  I  was  glad  when  it  was  over.  I  sat  out  one 
with  Lansing  Wells,  who  was  very  eager  and 
flushed,  and  diffident,  and  nice.  Later  he  brought 
his  fiancee  up  to  where  I  was  standing  with  Mr. 
Palisser.  She  is  a  tall,  thin,  stunning-looking 
girl  with  whimsical  brown  eyes.  She  said  a  queer, 
hurried  thing.  "  I'm  not  a  bit  jealous.  I  would 
too,  if  I  were  Lanse.  And  I've  always  wanted 
to  know  you,  but  you  were  always  so  stand 
offish,  I  never  tried." 

I,  "stand-offish"!  What  distorted  conclu 
sions  we  arrive  at  in  our  preconceptions  of  one 
another ! 

We  left  early.  George  came  up  behind  me  a 
little  before  supper  and  abruptly  asked  me  if  I 
wished  to  go  home. 

"  Why  ?  "  I  asked,  surprised.    "  Do  you  ?  "    I 


A  FRAGMENT  203 

was  sure  he  did  not.  I  had  just  seen  him  dancing 
with  Mabel  and  he  seemed  to  be  enjoying  it. 

He  frowned.  "  I  thought  you  might  be  tired," 
he  explained  carelessly. 

I  was  tired.  I  realized  it  acutely  as  he  spoke, 
but  more  poignant  was  the  darting  thought  that 
he  had  been  watching  me,  had  taken  thought  of 
me — not  for  my  sake,  oh  no, — but  I  felt  a  faint 
flutter  in  my  throat — I  had  felt  so  alone  among 
all  those  people  all  evening! — as,  laughing 
slightly,  I  did  not  deny  his  clairvoyance.  But  I 
am  going  to  stop  this  habit  of  analyzing  his  at 
tentions  and  intentions.  It  is  ungenerous — it 
makes  for  ugliness  and  petty  self-centeredness. 
I  shall  float  lightly  on  the  crest  of  the  wave — 
safer  so,  sweeter  so, — letting  the  deeper  under 
current  bear  me  to  my  secret  goal. 

Before  many  minutes  we  were  speeding  down 
the  hill.  The  windows  of  the  taxi  were  open,  the 
night  was  soft  and  brilliant  with  stars.  It  seemed 
to  me  I  had  left  the  gauds  of  life  forever  behind 
me,  and  were  running  back  to  life  itself. 

What  have  I  to  do  with  such  gauds — I  who  am 
going  to  be  a  mother  ?  Why  do  I  mar  this  record 


204  FULFILLMENT 

of  deeper  depths  with  this  tinsel  tale  of  stale 
vanities?  I  want  to  be  free  of  it  all,  clear  of 
the  fever  and  the  folly,  of  the  innuendo  in  men's 
eyes. 

Am  I  growing  narrow,  swaddled  in  my  fixed 
idea?  Who  cares!  I  am  what  I  am.  Nothing 
shall  touch  me  that  I  do  not  want  to  touch  me. 
And  just  now  I  long  for  cool,  white  vistas,  and 
people  with  clean,  brave  eyes.  There  are  avenues 
and  avenues.  I  did  not  choose  this  avenue  over 
which  I  am  traveling.  Fate  thrust  me  here  and  I 
must,  perforce,  go  forward.  And  behold — the 
uncounted  glory! — Fate,  I  am  humble, — in  my 
gratitude  I  am  humble, — I  kiss  the  hem  of  your 
gown! 

When  we  sped  down  the  hill  that  night,  I  felt 
like  laughing  aloud,  I  felt  as  if  George  Leland 
had  taken  me  by  the  hand  and  was  running  away 
with  me,  away  from  intoxication  into  cool,  sweet, 
silent  vistas.  Only  he  would  not  run  away  with 
me.  It  is  I  who  would  run  away  with  my 
self. 

A  few  days  more  and  we  go  into  our  house.  At 
least,  I  do.  In  imagination  I  mount  those  waiting 


A  FRAGMENT  205 

steps, — with  winged  feet,  I  reach  my  little  snug 
gery 


Months  have  passed  since  I  looked  at  this  fitful 
record.  Is  it  a  record  ?  I  meant  it  to  be  one — a 
record  of  growth,  my  "  baby-book "  of  self- 
determined  rebirth.  Most  growth  is  insensible, 
predestined,  without  our  knowledge  or  consent. 
This  one  I  thought  to  direct,  to  steer  by  the 
compass  of  conscious  vows,  but  I  find  my  eyes 
drawn  forever  from  my  star  to  my  goal,  I  find 
myself  leaping  by  the  shortest  route — my  heart — 
between  the  two  points.  I  know  that,  according 
to  time,  I  am  traveling  from  minute  to  minute, 
from  day  to  day,  toward  the  appointed  hour,  but 
soul  outruns  body  and  I  live  in  the  end,  which  I 
am  nearing. 

There  have  been  milestones,  one  forever  unfor 
gettable. 

A  flutter — come,  and  gone!  That  first  mes 
sage  from  out  the  void,  that  first  secret  acknowl 
edgment  between  mother  and  child.  Silent  call 
— silent  answer. 


206  FULFILLMENT 

Annunciation. 

Oh,  Wireless,  oh,  miracle  of  my  day,  what  in 
vention  of  man  can  equal  that  Invention ! 

It  happened  in  the  small  hours  of  the  night. 
I  remember  that  even  in  that  wondrous  thrill  I 
felt  a  blind  impulse  to  run  down  the  hall  to 
George  Leland's  room — there  was  no  one  else — 
and  whisper  him  the  wondrous  tidings  even 
though  it  had  to  be  through  his  closed  door.  But 
of  course  I  got  no  further  than  the  blind,  human 
impulse  to  tell  some  one. 

It  was  Deborah  who  sent  Dr.  Knightley  to  me. 
He  came  in  in  his  bluff,  kindly,  professional  way, 
drew  his  chair  up  before  me — drew  me  down  to 
kindly  earth. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  looking  through  me  from 
under  his  bushy  brows,  "  we'll  have  to  do  a  little 
thinking  for  a  minute,  instead  of  dreaming." 

For  a  moment  I  felt  as  if  all  the  blood  in  my 
body  were  rushing  to  my  face — he  was  the  first 
intruder  into  my  sanctuary — but  in  another  sec 
ond  the  shock  of  his  penetration  had  passed,  and 
I  was  answering  all  his  questions  and  listening 
to  his  explicit  directions  and  suggestions  with  a 


A  FRAGMENT  207 

sense  of  unusual  peace  and  comfort.  I  had  had 
no  fears  before  in  my  ignorance,  now  I  had  none 
in  the  assurance  of  his  strength. 

"  And  see  people,"  he  said  with  a  quick  smile 
when  he  was  leaving.  "  Don't  overdo  it,  but  have 
a  good  time.  Distract  yourself.  Think  of  some 
thing  else." 

"  I  do,"  I  said,  wondering  over  the  whimsical 
insistence  of  his  smile.  "  I  see  a  world  of  peo 
ple — all  sorts  of  people." 

"That's  right,"  he  said  emphatically.  "All 
sorts.  Differences, — the  best  sort  of  disci 
pline.  They  keep  us  moving  instead  of  moon 
ing." 

"Why?"  I  laughed,  troubled.  "Do  I  look 
as  though  I  were  mooning  ?  " 

"  Decidedly,  and  while  that  '  one  upward  look 
each  day '  isn't  a  bad  prescription,  keep  the  dose 
down  to  one.  Any  more  would  be  likely  to  give 
you  a  crick  in  the  neck,  which  will  be  very  pain 
ful  when  the  time  comes  to  change  your  posi 
tion."  He  smiled  on  me  in  big,  understanding 
kindliness,  and  I  lent  myself  to  it  as  to  a  big,  warm 
coat,  putting  myself  in  his  charge  without  need 


208  FULFILLMENT 

of  revealment  or  concealment,  feeling  his  diag 
nosis  sufficiently  clear. 

The  next  time  I  saw  him  he  said,  offhandedly, 
something  which  nonplussed  me  completely  for 
several  days. 

"  There's  no  nonsense  about  that  husband  of 
yours,"  he  said  jocularly.  "  He  insists  on  the 
declarative  sentence.  What  a  splendid  specimen 
of  young  manhood  you've  got  there,  Mrs.  Le- 
land." 

"Do  you  know  him?"  I  asked,  for  want  of 
something  more  to  the  point,  in  my  perturba 
tion. 

"  Oh,  no,  I'm  merely  judging  by  that  one  visit 
he  paid  me  the  day  after  my  visit  to  you.  Didn't 
he  tell  you  he  had  come  to  hear  for  himself  ?  " 

I  don't  think  I  answered  him. 

That  was  a  curious  thing  for  George  Leland 
to  do.  Often,  often  since,  I  wonder  what 
prompted  him  to  do  it.  It  wasn't  as  though  1 
had  been  ill — I  was  feeling  and  looking  perfectly 
well.  But  perhaps  it  was  only  what  Dr.  Knight- 
ley  took  it  to  be — a  desire  to  inform  himself  at 
headquarters,  all  other  means  being  closed  to  him. 


A  FRAGMENT  209 

Nevertheless,  the  knowledge  of  that  visit 
helped  me  in  a  certain  decision  I  made  a  week  or 
so  later.  I  have  said  there  were  milestones.  This 
one  I  am  about  to  describe  carries,  in  the  retro 
spect,  little  of  the  beauty  of  that  other  one. 

One  morning,  while  I  was  dressing,  there  came 
into  my  consciousness,  suddenly,  like  a  burst  of 
sunshine  through  mist,  the  revelation  that  there 
was  something  I  could  and  must  do  toward  chang 
ing  the  unnatural  conditions  prevailing.  I  am 
speaking  of  George's  successive  absentings  from 
town.  One  had  followed  so  closely  upon  the 
other  that  they  appeared  like  a  continuous  so 
journ  among  the  oil  fields,  and  the  biting  thought 
that  they  were  enforced,  "  in  accordance  with  the 
terms,"  had  been  haunting  me  relentlessly.  Then, 
in  a  flash,  that  morning,  it  occurred  to  me  that  it 
rested  with  me  to  alter  the  habit  of  discomfort 
to  which  he  had  bound  himself.  All  I  should 
have  to  do  was  to  make  him  see,  by  my 
manner,  that  his  presence  did  not  irk  me — that 
his  unnecessary  absence  did, — all  I  should  have 
to  say  was,  "  Do  you  really  have  to  be  so  con 
stantly  on  the  field?  " — and  he  would  surmise,  by 


210  FULFILLMENT 

my  manner,  what  I  left  unsaid,  and  accept  it — as 
he  would.  I  did  not  say  to  myself,  "  He  is  more 
comfortable  away,"  I  have  overcome  that  carping 
tendency,  as  I  said  I  would.  So,  with  the  unques 
tioning  determination,  I  experienced  an  inward 
glow  past  describing.  But  no,  I  can  describe  it — 
somewhat.  It  was  the  glow  of  conquest — self- 
conquest,  than  which  there  is  no  consciousness 
more  inspiring. 

He  was  at  home — breakfasting.  We  never 
breakfasted  together.  If  I  hurried  I  could  meet 
him  just  as  he  was  going  out.  I  gave  a  quick 
finishing  touch  to  my  hair,  slipped  into  my  long 
mandarin  coat,  and  was  almost  down  the  stairs 
when  he  came  toward  the  hall  door,  his  hat  in 
his  hand. 

Seeing  me,  he  stopped  short,  as  I  had  upon  the 
last  step. 

"  Oh — good-morning,'*  we  said  in  unison,  both 
awkward  over  the  unusual  early  encounter.  In 
the  morning  light  his  cheeks  looked  startlingly 
sunken  to  me  and  for  a  short  second  the  percep 
tion  gave  me  pause  before  I  rushed  into  the 
break. 


A  FRAGMENT  211 

"  Are  you — off  again?  "  I  smiled  with  a  slight 
raising  of  the  eyebrow  meant  to  be  casual,  light, 
as  though  the  frequency  had  just  struck  me. 

"  Surely.  It's  after  nine,"  he  said,  taking  out 
his  watch  in  verification  and  half -turning  toward 
the  door  in  the  manner  of  one  not  wishing  to 
detain  or  be  detained.  He  obviously  accepted  the 
moment  as  accidental,  and  this  assurance — that 
the  idea  of  my  "  making  advances  "  could  not 
possibly  occur  to  him — lent  wings  to  my  arrested 
impulse. 

"  Oh,  no,"  I  said  quickly,  "  I  meant — leaving 
town."  I  could  feel  my  heart  beating  with 
strange,  long  beats,  and  he  showed  the  shock  of 
his  surprise  in  the  dark  flush  invading  his  dis 
turbingly  thin  face. 

"  Oh,"  he  said  heavily,  as  if  faltering  in  his 
deduction.  "  Yes.  Probably."  Then  with  a 
ferreting  glance,  he  added  sharply,  "  Any  reason 
for " 

"  No,  no,"  I  interposed  hastily.  "  I  was  only 
wondering  whether  you  have  to  rush  off  every 
minute  as  you  do, — or  is  it  because — you  like  it  ?  " 
I  felt  my  lips  straining  at  a  miserable  smile. 


212  FULFILLMENT 

"  Like  it !  "  The  exclamation  shot  from  him 
uncontrollably,  but  with  incredibly  quick  control 
he  covered  the  inadvertence  with  the  concise, 
business-like,  "  It  isn't  a  question  of  liking.  I 
have  to."  He  turned  again  toward  the  door,  but 
veered  back,  coming  a  step  nearer.  "  Thanks," 
he  said,  so  rapidly  the  words  were  almost  indis 
tinguishable.  "  I  appreciate  the  effort  it  must 
have  been  for  you  to  say  that.  Don't  let  it 
bother  you.  You're  not — making  me  do  it,  and 
it  doesn't  hurt  me  in  any  way.  As  I  said — I 
have  to."  He  drew  breath,  dropping  the  slight 
tone  of  mockery  with  the  less  personal  observa 
tion.  "  And  by  the  way,  I'm  leaving  for  London 
Friday." 

I  saw  that,  as  he  finished  speaking,  he  was 
rather  pale,  but  that  was  all  I  realized  as  I  stood 
stupidly  repeating,  "London — Friday?" 

"  I  think  I  told  you  I  would  take  Sargent's 
place  to  meet  the  English  syndicate — it's  a  big 
deal  and  may  take  longer  than  we  count  to  con 
summate,  and  Sargent's  glad  to  get  out  of  it. 
It's  all  arranged  that  I'm  to  go.  Deborah  has 
promised  to  stay  here.  Not  that I'll  be 


A  FRAGMENT  213 

gone     about     three     months.      Unless — there's 

"  No,  no ! "  I  cried  impetuously,  hushing  his 
perfunctory  explanation.  "  I  had  forgotten, 
that's  all." 

He  hesitated, — over  my  quick  cry,  I  think — 
giving  me  a  questioning  look,  but  in  the  same 
instant  he  frowned  and,  with  a  brief  "  Good-by," 
strode  to  the  door,  and  out. 

He  had  taken  my  protest  at  what,  to  him,  was 
its  face  value,  no  more,  no  less :  I  had  been 
"  bothered,"  and  I  objected  to  being  bothered,  so 
he  had  set  things  straight  for  me !  The  mockery 
of  his  tone  had  made  his  conclusion  clear  to  me. 
The  imputation  of  an  egoistic  motive  hurt  like  a 
sharp  pain  with  its  menace  of  unforgivingness. 
But  I  resolutely  closed  my  senses  to  it,  almost 
smiling  it  away  with  my  vindicating,  beckoning 
vision  to  help  me  out  of  every  bitterness.  Vision ! 
But  without  that,  life,  any  life,  is  only  marking 
time. 

The  fact  that  he  was  going  to  London  hurt 
harder  in  its  suddenness.  Somehow  I  had  for 
gotten  that  plan  of  his  spoken  in  the  hot  spur 


214  FULFILLMENT 

of  a  miserable  hour.  I  had  given  it  no  attention. 
Evidently  conditions  had  remained  as  unchanged 
to  him  as  his  intention.  Writing  about  it  now, 
I  draw  a  hard  breath  over  my  Sisyphean  labor. 
And  his  hard,  thin  face 

True  to  his  announcement,  Friday  morning  at 
about  ten  he  appeared  in  the  open  doorway  of 
my  snuggery,  a  suit-case  in  either  hand.  I  knew 
what  he  had  come  for,  but  I  sat  still,  dully  won 
dering  what  sort  of  a  leave-taking  it  would  be. 
He  stopped  on  the  threshold. 

"  I'm  rushed  as  usual,"  he  said  in  a  quick, 
bright  tone.  "  Just  a  second  to  say  good-by. 
Hope  you'll  keep  well.  I  left  the  cable  number 
on  the  telephone  slate  in  case  there's  occasion  to 
communicate  with  me  hurriedly.  Not  that  there's 
likely  to  be.  But  there  it  is.  I'll  drop  you  a  card 
when  I  arrive.  Well — good-by !  " 

I  looked  incredulously  toward  him,  tall  and 
sinewy  in  his  long,  loose  overcoat.  "  Good-by, 
George,"  I  heard  myself  saying  mechanically. 
Impossible  that  he  could  go  that  way!  But — he 
did.  There  was  no  other  way. 

"  Good-by,"  he  echoed  after  me,  and  turned 


A  FRAGMENT  215 

his  staring  eyes  away  and  marched  straight  down 
the  hall.  No.  Not  even  the  touch  of  a  hand. 
A  minute  later  I  heard  the  bang  of  the  front 
door  behind  him. 

It  happened  months  ago  and  he  has  been  back 
more  than  two  months  now, — coming  and  going 
on  his  incessant  business  trips,  as  usual, — but  the 
awful  blankness  that  came  over  me  then  with  the 
bang  of  that  door,  falls  upon  me  again  like  a 
bolt  of  utter  frustration. 

But  to  be  more  consecutive — Deborah  came  to 
me  during  his  absence  and  was  with  me  as  much 
as  her  work  allowed.  She  has  told  me  so  much 
about  the  wonderfully-organized  work  for  the 
babies — the  carefully-selected  foster-mothers,  the 
certified  milk,  the  weekly  clinic,  the  clothing. 
Every  day  I  sew  for  some  one  of  those  babies. 
I  have  a  quick  needle.  Deb  brings  the  work — 
flannel  petticoats,  dresses,  rompers.  I  had  in 
tended  embroidering  a  lot  for  my  baby,  but  when 
Deb  told  me,  I  couldn't.  I  bought  everything  in 
stead.  You  should  see  the  inside  of  those  won 
derful  chiffonier  drawers!  Especially  the  little 


2i6  FULFILLMENT 

shirts It  makes  one  laugh  to  look  at  those 

little  shirts — if  you  put  your  fingers  through  the 
tiny  sleeves  you  can  almost But  I  am  em 
broidering  one  long  petticoat  for  my  own, — it 
will  be  finished  tomorrow, — and  I  rock  and  sing 
while  I  do  it,  rock  and  sing.  The  absurdest 
songs !  I  wonder  where  they  all  come  from.  I 
suppose  a  girl  unconsciously  gathers  up  all  the 
nursery  songs  she  hears — to  be  filed  for  reference. 
And  the  rhymes  and  stories — I  think  I  must  know 
a  million!  And  sometimes  I  make  them  up — 
when  I'm  alone  and  stop  singing.  I  never  sus 
pected  having  such  a  faculty.  They  simply  dance 
into  my  head  and  I  find  myself  smiling  over 
them  as  I  tell  them — in  imagination — to  my 
precious.  There's  one  about  a  pansy — I'll  write 
that  one  down — I'll  tell  it  to  her  when  we're 
quite  alone.  She'll  be  almost  four  when  I  tell 
her  that  one.  I've  written  one  or  two  others. 
One  is  for  a  far-off  day.  She'll  be  fifteen  when  I 
tell  her  that. 

I  intend  to  do  everything  for  my  child — that 
is  my  great  and  glorious  privilege.  No  strange 
nurse  shall  rob  me  of  it  and  steal  first  place  in 


A  FRAGMENT  217 

my  baby's  eyes!  I  shall  bathe  her,  feed  her, — 
perhaps,  God  willing,  I  shall  nurse  her. 

(I  had  to  put  down  my  pencil  for  a  moment 
then.  I  couldn't  see.  It  frightens  me  to  think 
how  self -bound  one  can  grow  in  the  ecstasy  of 
a  great  love.) 

Except  for  a  daily  automobile  ride — he  insisted 
on  getting  the  car — I  never  go  out  now.  I  gen 
erally  call  for  Jean  Wickham's  children  and  we 
do  have  the  j  oiliest  times  together  in  the  Park 
at  the  playgrounds,  or  they  bring  their  buckets 
and  spades  to  make  mud  pies  at  the  Cliff.  I  have 
not  gone  to  read  to  Granny  Dowd  at  the  Old 
People's  Home  for  over  a  month,  and  I  miss  her 
common-sensible,  beautiful  optimism:  to  her, 
every  change  is  a  change  for  the  better — yester 
day's  sun  never  compares  with  today's. 

During  George's  stay  in  London  I  received  two 
post-cards  from  him,  one  about  his  trip  across, 
the  other  about  the  London  weather !  I  answered 
the  first  on  a  correspondence  card.  It  was  hard  to 
write.  I  knew  that  Deb  wrote  him  weekly — no 
doubt,  on  her  own  initiative.  He  came  back  one 
morning  as  unconcernedly  as  he  had  left.  So 


2i8  FULFILLMENT 

that  disquieting  interim  has  passed,  and  things 
move  on  as  though  he  had  never  been  away — yet 
the  stinging  memories  associated  with  it  endure. 

Obedient  to  the  doctor's  orders  I  have  been 
seeing  a  lot  of  people.  It  keeps  one  from 
"  mooning,"  as  he  implied,  and  there  seems  to  be 
a  secret  conspiracy  against  my  solitude.  But 
Deb  said  to  me  only  yesterday,  "  What  does  that 
far  look  in  your  eyes  mean,  darling?  "  She  often 
calls  me  by  the  old  pet  names  these  days  and  I 
like  the  tenderness  of  it — like  it  fiercely  at  times 
— but  mostly  I  smile  over  it.  Deb's  afraid !  For 
me!  And  I  haven't  the  shadow  of  a  fear! 

But  to  get  back  to  the  people  who  come  to  see 
me.  They  come  again  and  again.  It  is  very  in 
teresting — watching  their  unconscious  self -revela 
tions,  and  musing  over  them  afterward.  "  A  man 
never  speaks  but  he  judges  himself,"  but  a  woman 
judges  herself  by  her  omissions  of  speech.  Lucy 
Hammond — she  has  been  Lucy  Wells  for  a  month 
now — calls  my  house  "  Rest  House/'  but  I  think 
it  is  her  harmonious  self  who  brings  the  "  rest." 
She  always  chimes  in  with  one's  mood — very 
soothing  in  its  gentle  leading  away  from  lazy 


A  FRAGMENT  219 

brooding.  Like  old  friends  we  never  make  an 
effort  at  conversation — just  let  the  words  come. 
She  is  one  of  those  who  return  again  and  again, — 
like  Mabel, — but  Mabel  comes  from  some  subtle 
sense  of  duty,  or  is  it  mere  force  of  habit? 

Often  others  come  while  Lucy  is  here  and  then 
she  becomes  amusingly  different — abrupt,  sarcas 
tic,  dryly  humorous.  Only  this  afternoon  they 
were  discussing  divorce.  They  envisaged  it  in 
side  and  outside,  before  and  after,  for  and  against, 
false  pride  and  false  prejudice,  causes  and  effects, 
weak  security  and  brave  freedom,  individualism 
and  unselfishness,  the  double  moral  standard  and 
the  single, — they  left  little  unsaid  and  said  more 
than  they  realized. 

Pretty  Mrs.  Farwell,  looking  off  into  the  dis 
tance  with  limpid  eyes,  said,  as  if  in  summary  of 
all  the  pother,  "  After  all,  it  depends  on  how  much 
one  can  stand." 

"  Will  stand,"  corrected  Jean  Wickham,  sit 
ting  high  and  tight  in  her  severely  simple  garb. 

ef  Should  stand,"  put  in  Mabel  quickly,  and  I 
caught  her  eye  fleeting  to  and  from  me  toward 
Lucy,  upon  whom  she  fixedly  kept  her  gaze. 


220  FULFILLMENT 

"  There  you  are,"  Lucy  counted  off  on  her 
fingers,  "  '  can/  '  will/  *  should/ — physical,  men 
tal,  moral.  It's  a  paragon's  job." 

"  Two  paragons',"  added  Mabel  sharply. 

"Yoked  together?"  insinuated  Lucy. 

"  Mabel  means,"  I  ventured,  striving  to  draw 
her  eyes  toward  me,  "  that  if  things  are  unhappy 
it's  always  due  to  one  or  the  other's  selfishness, 
don't  you,  Mabel?" 

And  while  Lucy  was  laughing,  "  Generally  the 
other's !  "  she,  Mabel,  turned  her  eyes  fully  upon 
me  and  I  heard  her  murmur  pointedly,  "  You  said 
that,  I  didn't,"  and  she  looked  away. 

"  Hate  never  reasons,"  I  answered  her  sotto 
voce  through  some  perverse  impulse  of  confi 
dence. 

"  Well,"  Jean  was  summing  up  flatly,  address 
ing  herself  to  Mrs.  Farwell,  "  in  nine  cases  out 
of  ten  it's  just  a  matter  of  having  common  sense 
or  not  having  common  sense.  We're  not  talking 
of  the  real,  awful  tenth  case,  but  of  the  nine 
petty,  imaginative  others.  It's  generally  better,  in 
spite  of  everything,  to  stay  put,  and  wait  another 
minute, — things  may  work  themselves  out,  if  one 


A  FRAGMENT  221 

isn't  a  temperamental  fool.    '  Put,'  you're  some 
body, — unput,  you're  less  than  nobody." 

'  You're  speaking  of  the  woman,"  suggested 
Mabel  swiftly. 

"  Certainly.    Weren't  you  ?  " 

"  No.  Why  not  try  to  put  one's  self  in  the 
man's  place  for  a  change  ?  You  know  he  needn't 
hesitate  so  long.  While  the  woman  is  always 
taking  chances  on  the  future,  a  man  can  always 
find  consolation  whether  he  re-marries  or  not — 
as  he  pleases." 

"  But  divorcees  do  re-marry,  too,"  protested 
Laura  Farwell  with  shining  eyes. 

"  Of  course  they  do,"  agreed  Lucy  heartily. 
"  It's  the  popular  parlor-game,  you  know.  Sort 
of  progressive  uxoriousness." 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Wells !  "  objected  Mrs.  Farwell, 
flushing.  "  What  ugly  words !  " 

"  Ugly  words  for  ugly  things,"  returned  Lucy, 
showing  her  prettily  arched  teeth.  "  I  always 
dot  my  i's  and  cross  my  t's.  It  makes  things 
more  legible." 

"  Oh,  but  people  don't  think  in  such  terms," 
combated  Mrs.  Farwell. 


222  FULFILLMENT 

"  Exactly,"  triumphed  Lucy,  and  just  then 
Molly  came  in  with  tea,  creating  a  diversion. 

When  the  others  had  gone  Lucy  followed  me 
out  upon  the  sun-porch,  where  the  westering  sun 
held  the  light  spring  atmosphere  in  a  jeweled 
glow.  Beyond,  on  the  encompassing  waters,  just 
within  the  Gate,  a  sail  was  turned  to  cloth-of- 
gold,  Alcatraz  lay  steeped  in  misty  splendor,  an 
isle  of  evening  mystery,  its  wondrous  white  prison 
gleaming  in  beauty  above  the  blue  waters. 

"  I  heard  the  children  up  at  the  Telegraph 
Hill  Settlement  talking  it  over  the  other  day," 
Lucy  said  in  a  low  voice  as  we  stood  idly  look 
ing  northward  to  the  island,  "  and  they  finally 
decided  that  the  white  building  over  there  must 
be  the  home  of  the  fairies !  " 

"  You  didn't  undeceive  them,  I  hope,"  I  said 
absently,  my  thoughts  far  away. 

"  Hardly.  I  only  dot  my  i's  and  cross  my  t's 
for  the  Mrs.  Farwells  and  her  sort.  Never  for 
the  little  ones." 

"  Ah,  Lucy,"  I  said  passionately,  coming  back 
to  her,  "if  one  could  only  go  out  and  scrub  the 
world  clean  and  straight  for  our  children!  I'd 


A  FRAGMENT  223 

be  willing  to  begin  with  myself,"  I  ended  with  a 
wistful  laugh. 

"  Ah,  Gwen,"  retorted  Lucy  whimsically,  with 
her  cheek  against  my  hair  as  she  stood  close  be 
hind  me,  "  begin  with  me,  not  with  yourself. 
You !  Don't  you  see  how  we're  all  trying  to  rub 
up  against  you — even  silly  little  Laura  Farwell? 
Only — only,  dearest,  you've  let  that  thought  ab 
sorb  you  quite,  to  the  exclusion  of  everything 
else.  You're  just  a  mother- woman,  and  nothing 
more." 

"I?"  I  repeated  bitterly.  "Not  even  that. 
I  am  all  egoism.  No,  it's  the  women  like  my  sis 
ter  Deborah,  who  do  actual  things  for  others, 
who  are  the  real  mother- women  of  the  world,  not 
the  parasitic  sentimentalists,  like  me.  No  doubt 
Providence — whatever  it  is  that  manages  human 
affairs — knows  what  it's  about  when  it  keeps 
such  women  as  Deb  from  having  children  of 
their  own." 

"  Highly  economical  for  Providence,"  said 
Lucy  dryly,  "  but  not  quite  so  satisfying  to  the 
Deborahs, — don't  you  think,  Gwen?" 

But  I  was  not  thinking  of  Deborah  then  or  later 


224  FULFILLMENT 

when  she  left  me  sitting  there  in  the  evening  light, 
wrapped  in  the  long  fur  raglan  George  surprised 
me  with  when  we  were  in  England.  Those  gifts ! 
— Lucy  found  it  in  the  cedar  closet  and  sum 
marily  tucked  me  into  it  before  leaving.  I  should 
have  felt  very  cozy  there,  sunk  in  the  depths  of 
the  wicker  chair,  watching  the  setting  sun  chang 
ing  to  a  ruby  ball  and  presently  staining  the 
waters  as  with  spilt  wine,  while  across,  on  the 
Marin  side,  the  grand  cliffs  and  low-lying  shores 
glowed  like  jewels  in  the  rosy  haze,  but  my 
thoughts  had  turned  back  to  the  echoes  of  the 
afternoon. 

"  A  man  needn't  hesitate  so  long — he  can  al 
ways  find  consolation  elsewhere/' 

Swiftly,  on  the  opportunity  of  the  moment, 
Mabel  had  flung  her  dart  as  though  her  policy  of 
"  watchful  waiting "  had  reached  its  breaking 
point.  Was  it  a  threat  or — a  boast?  She  has 
always  sensed  something — everything,  perhaps. 
I  know  George  Leland  has  never  unlocked  those 
stern  lips  of  his  to  anyone,  not  even  to  Mabel, 
much  as  he  cares  for  her,  but  she,  in  her  love 
for  him,  is  judging  me  about  something  which  she 


A  FRAGMENT  225 

only  feels  to  be  true,  but  cannot  know.  I  an 
swered  her,  ambiguously  enough,  "  Hate  never 
reasons."  No  doubt  she  thinks  /  hate  him.  (I 
had  unconsciously  twisted  my  fingers  so  tight 
together  as  I  sat  there  that,  at  that  point  of  my 
meditations,  I  had  to  untwine  them,  finger  by 
finger,  they  hurt  so.)  How  could  Mabel  know 
that  it  is  /  who  am  the  repudiated  one — that  I 
have  given  over  hating — anyone — long  ago? 
And  if,  as  she  wished  to  suggest  to  me,  George 
Leland  is  finding,  or  will  find,  consolation  else 
where 

I  don't  know  what  hateful,  confused  images 
were  crowding  in  upon  me  when  his  voice  said 
close  to  me,  "  Aren't  you  cold  out  there  ? "  and 
there  he  was,  standing  in  the  long,  open  window, 
looking  out  at  me  with  his  lean,  smileless  face. 

His  sudden  proximity  and  the  painful  realiza 
tion  of  the  inscrutable  remoteness  of  his  life  to 
mine,  intensified  by  Mabel's  barbed  innuendo, 
gave  me  a  curious  sense  of  involuntary  shrink 
ing. 

"Oh!"  I  exclaimed  in  actual  pain,  and  had 
to  close  my  eyes  for  an  instant. 


226  FULFILLMENT 

He  waited  until  I  had  opened  them  before  he 
asked  quietly,  "Anything  wrong?" 

"  Only  my  fingers,"  I  laughed  brokenly,  and 
held  them  against  my  lips.  "  I  must  have  been 
twisting  them  again." 

He  came  out  and  stood  against  the  low  balus 
trade,  looking  seaward  for  a  few  minutes  in  un 
usual  silence.  We  did  not  enjoy  the  bond  of 
silence  which  intimacy  gives.  "  I'm  home  a  little 
earlier  than  usual,"  he  said  presently,  "  and  I 
came  out  here  at  once  because  I  want  to  ask  you 
something.  Er — it's  rather  necessary  for  me  to 
go  down  to  Bakersfield  tonight.  That  is,  if 
there's  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't." 

I  knew  what  he  meant — looking  away  from 
me  while  he  spoke — and  his  question  irritated 
me  with  its  false  reckoning  of  three  weeks.  Be 
sides,  Mabel's  words,  still  swaying  about  me  in 
the  soft  air,  drew  me  far  from  him,  back  into  my 
inviolable  sanctuary. 

"  What  possible  reason  could  there  be?  "  I  said 
in  a  small,  cold  voice,  cold  and  wintry  as  I  sud 
denly  felt  the  air  to  have  grown  about  me. 

"  Oh.    All  right,"  he  said  offhandedly.     "  I'll 


A  FRAGMENT  227 

go  pack  my  suit-case  then  and  get  off  on  the 
Owl." 

He  could  just  as  well  have  arranged  to  go  on 
the  Lark  and  have  had  dinner  with  me.  Well, 
perhaps  the  earlier  train  was  more  convenient. 

So  he  has  gone. 

It  is  after  eleven — I  have  been  writing  for 
nearly  four  hours.  It  has  helped  to  pass  the 
time,  and  trying  to  remember  in  consecutive  de 
tail  has  distracted  my  hag-driven  conscience. 

He  said,  in  parting,  over  his  shoulder  as  he 
turned  away,  "  Of  course  you'll  send  for  Deb." 
But  I  have  not.  I  want  to  be  alone — with  my 
self.  Writing,  as  I  have,  has  kept  me  from  my 
rendezvous, — now  I  will  face  myself. 

"  Mother- woman,"  Lucy  called  me.  "  It  has 
absorbed  you  quite,"  she  said. 

Yes. 

Did  she  mean  it  in  protest? 

Yes. 

As  were  Mabel's  words  ? 

Yes. 

What  have  they  sensed — each  from  her  dif 
ferent  point  of  interest? 


228  FULFILLMENT 

That  I  am  not  a  good  wife.  That  I  have  for 
gotten  my  husband. 

But  what  if  my  husband  has  turned  irrecon 
cilably  from  me — through  my  hideous  insult? 

Did  I  ever  try  to  win  him  back? 

Never. 

Why  not? 

Because  he  has  showr  me  it  was  useless, — be 
cause  I  never  thought  of  doing  such  a  thing. 

Not  much  of  a  heroine! 

No.  I  am  only  proud.  I  only  thought  of  mak 
ing  him  see  I  am  not  "  unworthy  " — that  that  was 
only  a  passing  debasement.  I  have  been  hoarding 
up — against  the  day  when  I  can — oh,  what  is 
the  phrase? — when  I  can  come,  bearing  lar 
gesse. 

But  that  is  mere  selfish  sensationalism — that 
was  sacrificing  everything  for  my  "  curtain  " — 
what  I  blindly  called,  my  goal. 

Yes — I  see  that  now.  But — there  was  always 
the  insurmountable  wall  of  his  not  caring,  fac 
ing  me. 

Did  I  ever  try  to  scale  the  wall  ? 

There  was  no  foothold. 


A  FRAGMENT  229 

Am  I  sure  of  that? 

I  took  it  for  granted.  I  never  questioned — I 
never  thought  about  it.  I  took  it  for  granted.  I 
turned  myself  heart  and  soul  to  my  child — and 
to  the  mother  of  my  child.  I  have  been  engaged 
in  a  deadly,  silent  struggle — with  something 
stronger  than  myself — with  something  that  was 
beautiful  and  beloved  within  me.  I  have  beaten 
it  to  death,  I  have  won — I  have  made  no  sound — 
I  am  very,  very  tired. 

And  so  I  missed  my  chance.  But  there  was 
no  chance.  How  could  there  be  ? 

Now  there  is  only  the  sound  of  a  banging  door 
reverberating  upon  my  heart, — and  a  man  going 
out — a  stranger  in  his  own  home. 

But,  Mabel  said,  "  A  man  can  always  find 
consolation  elsewhere." 

My  fault? 

I  will  not  think  of  it  according  to  her  light. 
He  gave  me  no  choice.  I  could  expect  none.  I 
had  only  my  child.  All  else  was  withheld  from 
me.  All  but  that  final  vision — that  dim  day  of 
redemption — when  I  should  come  to  him — carry 
ing  largesse. 


230  FULFILLMENT 

Why  has  a  veil  of  ashes  fallen  between  me 
and  my  vision — why 


I  have  lifted  my  head  from  my  agony.  (Dear 
heart,  it  is  no  agony  for  your  mother.  See,  I 
smile  through  it!) 

I  have  telephoned  the  nurse  and  the  doctor — 
almost  a  month — three  weeks — before  the  awaited 
time. 

Strange  it  should  come  tonight,  in  contradic 
tion  of  my  denial  to  him. 

I  have  made  all  beautiful  and  ready  for  the 
coming  of  my  idolized  one. 

I  have  not  sent  for  Deborah — and  I  will  not. 

I  let  him  go — I  did  not  know.  And  if  I  had 
known  ? 

I  am  all  alone — and  I  rejoice  in  my  loneliness 
with  a  fierce  rejoicing. 

I  am  not  afraid.  I  need  no  one  to  help  me  over 
the  chasm,  wide  and  awful  though  it  may  prove. 
On  the  other  side  I  shall  hold  my  child.  And  I 
shall  hold  her  as  I  hold  nothing  else — we  shall  be 
all  in  all  to  each  other 


A  FRAGMENT  231 

I  have  wiped  the  agony  again  from  my  brow. 

Good-by,  little  book — I  don't  know  why  I  keep 
on  writing  here — except  that  you  are  like  a  friend. 
Good-by,  little  book,  I  go  to  keep  tryst. 

There  are  strange  announcements  far  away  in 
the  air — trumpets  and  bells,  sweet  and  far — like 
New  Year's  Eve.  Good-by,  little  book, — I 


How  strange  to  find  you  again,  after  all  these 
months — nearly  six,  by  actual  count — and  of  all 
places,  inside  my  green  parasol ! 

I  am  eager  to  write,  with  this  new  restlessness 
upon  me.  Well,  I'll  turn  the  page  and  try  to 
fill  in  time's  hiatus — letting  today  stand  "  sus 
pended,"  as  the  author  of  Evelina  might  say. 

But  there  has  been  no  hiatus  for  me,  though  it 
was  spring  then,  and  now  the  wonderful  Indian 
summer  is  almost  over. 

And  today  my  baby  turned  herself  round  to  me 
while  I  was  putting  her  in  nurse's  arms,  and 
said  distinctly,  "  Mum-mum ! "  Of  course  I 


232  FULFILLMENT 

had  to  snatch  her  back.  That  is  wonderful — I 
don't  mean  wonderful — I  don't  want  to  be  vain  or 
silly  about  her — but  I  think  that  is  very  ad 
vanced — for  six  months.  And  how  she  looked 
when  she  said  it! — her  little  flower-face  flushed 
and  sleepy  and  smiley  from  her  nursing,  her  pale 
golden  halo — her  hair  is  really  wonderful  already 

— standing  out  at  either  side  like  Peter  Pan's 

No,  no,  not  like  Peter  Pan's.  What  a  foolish 
comparison! — There!  I  stopped  to  knock  on 
wood  then.  Superstitious  ?  Oh,  no,  only  remem 
bering  possibilities. 

I  was  to  go  back,  was  I  not,  little  book,  instead 
of  stopping  to  rhapsodize  over  my  exquisite, 
all-sufficing  present. 

Yet  I  have  been  through  Creation.  I  have 
passed  through  the  darkness  of  chaos,  and 
through  the  travail  of  meeting  eternities — the 
eternity  of  things  that  are  ending  and  the  eternity 
of  things  beginning.  I  have  struggled  through 
the  blinding  mists  of  the  night  of  the  one  into 
the  tremulous  silvery  mists  of  the  dawn  of  the 
other.  And  in  that  dawning,  up  through  the 
hushed  awe  of  its  mysteries,  I  have  heard  a  cry. — 


A  FRAGMENT  233 

And  I  knew  then  not  only  why  I  was,  but  why  all 
things  were,  and  must  ever  be.  I  have  glimpsed, 
in  the  thrill  of  one  moment,  Infinity. 

I  can  remember  little  else  of  that  night  and 
morning,  except  of  being  dimly  aware  of  Dr. 
Knightley's  strong,  kind  face  bending  over  me, 
and  his  strong,  kind  voice  saying  to  me,  "  Cry 
out,  little  girl,  cry  out,  it  will  do  you  good — no- 
body'll  hear  you."  But  I  would  not.  Cry  out 
against  my  baby's  coming !  And  Molly,  dear,  good 
Molly,  beseeching  me  to  "  Send  for  Miss  Heath, 
Mrs.  Leland, — please  send  for  Miss  Heath!" 
But  I  would  not.  All  alone  I  would  cross  the 
bar.  Had  I  not  said,  "  I  will  be  worthy  of  my 
child,"  and  was  I  going  to  begin  with  cowardice? 
That  was  a  nothing.  But,  presently,  when  other 

influences  will  begin  to  contend  with  me 

How  big  I  shall  have  to  grow  to  meet  the  needs 
and  testings  of  the  vandal  years,  the  fecund, 
crowning  years !  Long  stretches  of  time  beckon 
to  us — my  daughter  and  me. 

Ah,  I  knew  it  would  be  a  daughter.  How  must 
it  be  to  be  the  mother  of  a  son 

I  must  go  back. 


234  FULFILLMENT 

There  was  that  other  moment  when  they  laid 
her  in  my  arm,  and  I  drew  her  to  me,  and  I  be 
came,  of  a  sudden,  very  good.  I  think  it  was  for 
ever — without  a  vow,  without  striving,  without 
anything  on  my  part.  Just — done.  By  some 
thing  beyond  me.  Hush.  I  never  thought  to 
speak  of  those  two  moments.  I  had  put  them 
away  into  my  holy  of  holies.  Hush.  It  is  be 
tween  you  and  me,  little  book,  you  and  me,  and 
no  other.  Some  people  talk  about  those  high  mo 
ments  among  one  another.  How  can  they  ?  Per 
haps  one  could  to  one  other — if  one  were  very 
close  to  that  one.  Perhaps  one  does.  It  must 
be  very  sweet. 

I  must  go  back. 

Deb  came,  of  course,  as  soon  as  I  let  them  tele 
phone.  All  that  is  vague  to  me. 

But  what  happened  the  next  day  is  not  vague, 
though  darkness  fell  upon  it. 

I  was  feeling  so  gloriously  well  that  I  said, 
laughingly,  to  Deb,  "  I  think  I'll  go  for  a  walk!  " 
And  Deb  said,  "  George  is  coming  in  to  see  the 
baby.  Will  you  see  him,  dear?" 

I  felt  a  quick  fluttering  about  my  heart  and 


A  FRAGMENT  235 

saw  her  beautiful  face  only  dimly  when  I  whis 
pered,  "  When  did  he  come?  " 

"  I  wired  to  him  at  once,  of  course.  He  has 
just  come  in.  Will  you  see  him,  Gwen?" 

I  don't  think  I  answered  her  at  all,  but  she 
must  have  taken  the  look  in  my  eyes  for  ac 
quiescence,  because  she  left  me  immediately. 

At  the  other  side  of  the  room  stood  my  dress 
ing-table  and,  through  the  mirror,  I  could  see 
into  the  sitting-room,  which  had  been  converted 
into  a  nursery  in  which  lay  my  baby  in  her  bas 
sinet.  I  had  had  my  face  turned  in  that  direction 
but,  after  Deb  had  spoken,  I  could  see  nothing 
for  a  few  minutes, — because,  in  her  speaking,  I 
knew  I  had  reached  my  great  moment, — and  then, 
suddenly,  across  the  blank,  I  knew  that  I  was  look 
ing  at  George  Leland's  figure  bending  over  the 
baby.  Deb  was  there  beside  him,  but  I  did  not 
distinguish  her  from  the  other  surroundings,  I 
only  saw  his  bending  shoulders  and  head,  saw 
his  hand  go  down  to  the  little  silken  coverlet, — 
knew,  but  did  not  see,  that  he  had  straightened 
up  and  had  turned  toward  the  door  leading  into 
my  room — and  then  I  knew  no  more. 


236  FULFILLMENT 

Deb  told  me  months  afterward,  when  I  asked 
her  about  it,  that  his  voice  calling  her  name  was 
like  the  sound  of  one  trying  to  cry  out  in  a  night 
mare.  He  thought  I  was  dead.  And  so  did  Deb 
until  she  laid  her  ear  to  my  heart.  I  was  uncon 
scious  for  eight  hours.  The  doctor  said  it  was 
nervous  shock  brought  on  by  overstrain. 

'  You  had  been  heaven-gazing  against  my  or 
ders  so  long,  and  the  tension  was  so  great,  that 
when  you  fell  to  earth,  everything  went  ker 
flop,"  he  said  with  that  illuminating  smile  of  his, 
holding  my  hand  in  both  of  his.  "  You  know 
you're  my  star  heroine  and  we  can't  afford  to  let 
such  things  happen  again,  so  we're  just  going  to 
keep  you  in  cotton-wool  for  a  while." 

And  they  did,  and  I  let  them — I  was  so  dread 
fully  tired.  For  nearly  three  months  I  saw  no 
one  but  my  baby,  and  nurse,  and  Deb,  and  the 
doctor.  They  would  not  let  me,  and  I  had  no 
desire  to  see  anyone.  But  always,  back  in  my 
dulled  brain,  I  wondered  about  George  Leland, 
but  I  was  too  weary  to  ask  and  no  one  mentioned 
his  name. 

The  doctor  let  me  nurse  my  baby.     He  never 


A  FRAGMENT  237 

opposed  any  of  my  wishes, — "  Because  you  are  a 
good  girl/'  he  said.  He  made  me  well  with  his 
trust  in  me. 

One  day  when  Deb,  and  I,  and  the  baby  in  her 
buggy  were  on  the  sun-porch,  I  said  to  Deb, 
"  Why  doesn't  George  come  in?  He  could 
now." 

She  waited  a  minute  before  she  answered. 
"  George  isn't  here.  He  waited  until  you  were 
out  of  all  danger,  and  then  went  off  to  London 
again.  It  was  necessary  for  him  to  go  and — he 
thought  it  wiser." 

I  asked  her  why  "  wiser." 

She  hesitated.  "  He  thought  it  was  his  pres 
ence  that  had  upset  you,  and  it  would  be  better  for 
him  to  wait  to  see  you  again  till  you  were  quite 
yourself." 

I  asked  if  he  were  to  be  gone  long. 

"  About  three  months,"  she  said.  "  I  promised 
to  keep  him  informed  about  you  and  the  baby. 
You  know,  while  he  was  at  home — he  only  left 
day  before  yesterday — he  never  once  missed 
holding  the  baby  every  evening  when  he  came 
home." 


238  FULFILLMENT 

I  said  nothing,  and  Deb  asked  nothing. 

Of  course  I  know  it  was  "  his  presence  "  that 
had  sent  me  off.  Not  his  presence  exactly,  but 
the  memory  of  everything — everything  that  came 
with  him  when  I  saw  him  coming  toward  me.  I 
know  I  wanted  to  say  something.  I  know  it  was 
battling  up  to  my  lips  in  a  terrible  wave  of  feel 
ing,  but  what  it  was  I  cannot  remember,  because 
of  that  awful  pall  of  memory  which  came  and 
covered  me  over.  I  wonder  whether  it  was  some 
thing  about  the  baby,  or  myself,  or  himself.  I 
search,  and  search,  and  cannot  find  it.  Ah,  well, 
chance  does  take  a  malicious  joy  in  twisting  us 
about  from  our  first  intentions,  doesn't  it? 

So  I  have  had  a  long,  quiet  time  in  which  to 
come  back.  The  doctor  advised  the  country,  and 
Deb,  with  my  listless  consent,  took  this  place, 
here  at  Ross  Valley,  and,  the  lease  having  run 
out,  I  gave  up  my  house-of-dreams  in  the  city. 
And  we  have  been  almost  four  months  in  this 
beautiful,  wooded  retreat — everybody  knows  the 
old  Searles  place — and  I  shall  be  sorry  next  week 
when  this  gorgeous  October  ends  and  we  close  the 
gate  behind  us  upon  the  lovely  lawns  and  wide 


A  FRAGMENT  239 

verandas  where  the  soft  breezes  have  swept  down 
to  us  bosky  odors  from  Tamalpais  and  Lagunitas 
and  the  deep  dells  all  about  us,  where  Beth, — 
Elizabeth,  after  my  own  never-known  mother 
toward  whom  I  have  yearned  so  wonderfully  in 
these  latter  times, — where  my  baby  has  found 
all  her  dimpled  beauty,  where  Deb  has  brought, 
in  happy  relays,  five  of  her  "  children  "  to  grow 
strong  and  rosy  under  these  lovely  outdoors, 
where  I  have  let  benign  Nature  do  as  she  would 
with  me,  and  where,  for  almost  a  month,  I  have 
been  ready  and  straining  at  the  leash  for  what 
ever  Life  may  now  ask  of  me. 

The  summer  habitues  have  flown  town-wards 
— all  but  the  Laurences  in  Shady  Lane — and  in 
the  tense  quiet  I  have  been  waiting — with  a  time 
limit. 


Tuesday: — One  more  reminiscence: 

This  afternoon — just  a  little  after  noon,  as  I 

was  passing  through  the  hall,  the  telephone  bell 

rang  and  I  sat  down  to  answer  it. 

And  the  "  Hallo ! "  that  came  to  me  over  the 


240  FULFILLMENT 

wires  was  George  Leland's.  I  recognized  his 
voice  at  once  and,  by  an  impish  trick  of  mem 
ory, — sheer  excitement,  of  course, — I  almost  an 
swered  him  with  Martha's  brogue  as  I  used  to 
put  him  off  before,  in  the  days  before — the  flood ! 

But  I  didn't. 

"  Hallo,"  I  answered  as  composedly  as  I  could, 
but  I  had  some  trouble  in  steadying  my  voice. 
Then  we  went  on. 

"  May  I  speak  to  Mrs.  Leland?  Tell  her  Mr. 
Leland  is  in  San  Francisco  and  wishes  to  speak 
to  her." 

"  This  is  me,  George." 

"  Oh — Gwen."  His  voice  was  quick  and  sharp 
and  there  was  an  appreciable  pause  after  he  spoke 
my  name.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  called  me 
by  name  since — that  afternoon  when  we  came 
home  from  Europe.  ^Eons  ago.  I  think  the 
unfamiliar  sound  must  have  struck  him  as  it 
did  me. 

"I've  just  got  back,"  he  caught  up,  in  the  same 
brisk  tone.  "  How  are  you  ?  " 

"Very  well.     And  you?" 

"First  rate.     And— the  baby?" 


A  FRAGMENT  241 

"  She's— wonderful !  "  Yes,  I  exalted  her,  and 
the  excitement  which  would  not  let  me  answer 
coolly  and  calmly  as  I  wanted  to,  was  all  in  my 
voice  and  he  must  have  heard  it.  He  could  not 
know  that  I  was  trembling  in  every  limb. 

"  So  Deb  wrote,"  he  acquiesced  bluntly. 
"  Could  I — would  you  mind  my  running  over  to 
see  her?" 

"  Surely  not."  I  was  quite  quiet  then  with  a 
heavy  lump  in  my  throat.  "  When  will  you 
come?" 

"  At  once — that  is,  on  the  next  boat, — if  con 
venient  to  you." 

"  Of  course." 

"How  do  I  get  there?" 

"  It's  the  Searles  place  on  the  Lagunitas  road. 
Anyone  can  direct  you.  Either  come  up  through 
the  little  wood  by  way  of  Shady  Lane  or  straight 
over  the  road  from  the  station.  You'll  know  it 
by  its  two  old  pine  trees  at  either  side  of  the  en 
trance  to  the  grounds.  I  have  no  one  to  meet  you, 
or " 

"  How's  that?  Where's  the  chauffeur— 
where's  Benton?  " 


242  FULFILLMENT 

"  The  car's  in  storage,  but  the  phaeton  or  some 
thing  at  the  station  will  bring  you  up." 

"  I'll  find  it  all  right.  Thanks.  See  you  pres 
ently  then.  Er — that  is — will  you  be  there?  " 

"  Yes.     I'll  be  here.     In  a  little  while,  then." 

I  had  to  close  my  eyes  for  a  few  seconds  before 
I  got  away  from  the  telephone,  and  as  I  went 
upstairs  I  only  prayed  that  Mary  would  soon 
appear  with  the  perambulator  after  their  daily 
walk  with  the  Laurence  baby  and  his  nurse.  But 
I  looked  at  myself  in  the  glass  in  my  simple  white 
gown  with  the  open  sailor  collar,  fleetingly  won 
dering  if  he  would  find  me  changed !  Yet  all  the 
while  I  know  I  was  saying  to  myself,  "  Now 
everything  will  be  straightened  out — every 
thing." 

The  practical  thought  gave  me  poise,  yet  when 
I  went  down  to  the  veranda  with  my  book  I  was 
still  hoping  passionately  that  Mary  would  come 
back  with  the  baby  before  he  could  arrive.  Some 
times  she  is  gone  an  hour,  sometimes  three, — it 
depends  on  how  long  the  baby  sleeps. 

I  could  not  read.  I  took  the  shears  and  went 
down  across  the  lawn  into  the  rose  garden  and 


A  FRAGMENT  343 

began  clipping  off  the  shriveled  blooms  from  the 
almost  naked  bushes.  Here  and  there  a  lonely 
rose  raised  a  lovely  head  and  I  gathered  it  re 
luctantly.  On  the  lawns,  beneath  the  tremulous 
golden  haze  of  the  afternoon,  the  old  oak  trees 
threw  long  shadows.  The  air  was  sweet  as 
spring,  warm  with  just  a  tang  of  crispness  in 
its  wings.  I  shall  never  forget  the  beauty  of  the 
atmosphere  of  that  day. 

I  saw  him  coming  up  the  road  and  moved 
across  the  lawn  to  meet  him,  standing  still  near 
the  low  flight  of  steps  as  he  came  up  the  walk. 
He  walked  briskly  as  if  intent  upon  business. 
Even  at  a  distance  I  noticed  that  he  appeared 
older,  and  when  we  met  and  he  held  my  hand  in  a 
close,  quick  clasp,  I  saw  that  the  effect  was  due 
to  a  certain  look  of  vested  authority,  the  uncon 
scious  look  acquired  by  a  man  to  whom  deference 
is  due.  He  was  indeed  a  stranger  to  me  but, 
curiously  enough,  I  felt  myself,  on  the  instant, 
rise  to  his  level, — maturity,  like  a  garment,  fell 
upon  me,  enveloping  me  in  its  dignity. 

"Quite  well?"  he  asked  pleasantly  with  the 
same  under-current  of  detached  business  purpose 


244  FULFILLMENT 

in  his  impersonal  tone  and  glance  which  I  had 
noticed  in  his  walk. 

"  Quite,"  I  answered  in  kind.  "  Will  you  come 
up  on  to  the  veranda  ?  The  baby  hasn't  got  back 
yet." 

He  followed  me  silently  up  the  steps. 

"  They'll  be  here  in  a  few  minutes,  I  hope," 
I  said,  putting  my  few  red  roses  through  the 
open  window  into  a  glass  which  stood  conveni 
ently  near,  while  he  threw  his  hat  and  the  paper 
he  was  carrying  into  a  chair. 

"  They?  "  he  questioned,  turning  about. 

"  Beth — the  baby,  and  her  nurse,"  I  explained. 
I  was  calm,  and  although  I  know  I  shall  never  be 
absolutely  calm  when  I  speak  of  her,  I  pray  it 
will  never  again  be  with  the  horrible  inner  ex 
citement  with  which  I  then  spoke  of  her,  looking 
away  from  him  down  through  the  trees  of  the 
climbing  road. 

He  came  a  step  nearer  behind  me. 

"  I  came  up  through  the  woods,"  he  remarked 
as  if  there  had  been  no  pause  between  us,  present 
or  past,  while  I  turned  and  seated  myself  in  a 
deep  wicker  chair  and  he  took  another.  "  That's 


A  FRAGMENT  245 

a  bit  of  real  forest  round  near  the  rustic  seat 
under  that  huge  old  laurel  tree.  The  birds  were 
having  it  all  to  themselves  as  I  came  through." 

"  But  you  came  by  the  road,"  I  demurred.  Did 
he  realize  as  poignantly  as  I  that  this,  the  first  bit 
of  desultory  conversation  we  had  had  together 
since — before  the  flood! — was  merely  the  pre 
liminary  skirmishing  to  a  decisive  battle  ? 

"  Oh,  I  cut  back  through  a  short  trail  in  the 
underbush  when  I  heard  a  machine  whizzing  past. 
I  always  stick  near  to  the  main-traveled  road.  It 
saves  time  and  bother.  Quiet  place — Ross." 

"  Most  of  the  summer  contingent  has  left,"  I 
explained. 

"Where's  the  village ?" 

"  There  is  none — properly  speaking.  None  al 
lowed  except  the  one  little  necessary  shop,  and 
stables,  and  post-office  down  near  the  station.  All 
trading  is  done  sub  rosa  through  the  adjacent 
towns.  The  spot  is  destined  for  mere  beauty." 

"  Sounds  luxurious." 

"  It's  gorgeous  for  summering." 

Thus  we  dallied. 

"  Oh,  for  a  resting  place,  yes,"  he  assented 


246  FULFILLMENT 

with  a  slight  quickening  of  tone.  "  Now  Palisser 
has  a  different  idea  of  rest.  He  was  telling  me 
this  morning  of  Wickersham's  yacht — Nathaniel 
Wickersham,  you  know.  Have  you  heard  of  it  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head  in  negation,  wondering  how 
soon  the  spoken  word — his  or  mine — would  burn 
our  bridges  behind  us. 

"  Swagger  little  boat,  I  hear.  Palisser,  it 
seems,  has  leased  it  from  him  for  three  months 
and  is  going  to  cruise  in  southern  seas — South 
Sea  Islands  and  all  those  places,  you  know.  He's 
dippy  with  anticipation.  Asked  me  to  join  them 
— knew  I  was  a  great  sailor.  I  suppose — no,  you 

said  you  know  nothing  about  it Mabel  and 

Frank  are  going."  He  spoke  lightly,  leaned  back 
in  the  basket  chair,  and  threw  one  long  leg  care 
lessly  across  the  other,  catching  his  foot  in  his 
hand. 

Was  this  the  entering  wedge  ?    I  waited. 

He  veered  about  the  next  instant.  "  This  must 
be  pretty  dreary  in  winter,"  he  reconnoitered. 

"  So  they  say." 

"You're  not — going  to  stay?" 

"  Hardly.    We  go  to  town  next  week/' 


A  FRAGMENT  247 

"  Any  plans?  "  He  was  intently  watching  the 
road  at  that  moment. 

I  advanced  to  the  breach.  "  That  is  what " 

I  began  bravely. 

"  Ah,  there  she  is !  "  he  interrupted.  He  had 
sprung  up,  my  words  unheard,  and  taken  a  step 
to  the  edge  of  the  veranda. 

I  looked, — Mary  had  indeed  reached  the  brow 
of  the  hill,  would  be  here  in  a  minute, — and  I  fol 
lowed  his  lead,  only  momentarily  frustrated,  I 
thought. 

"  I'll  hurry  her  along,"  I  said,  and  sped  down 
the  steps  and  over  the  walk,  fleet  as  ever  in  my 
rampant  health.  It  is  such  joy  to  skim  over 
roads. 

"  Mary !  "  I  called,  waving  to  her  down  under 
the  glorious  west  pine  tree.  "  Ma-ry !  Hurry. 
Someone  is  waiting  to  see  the  baby !  " 

She  heard  me  well  enough  but  changed  her 
speed  not  a  whit,  continuing  her  talk  with  the 
baby  whom  she  slowly  wheeled  before  her. 

I  went  down  to  meet  her,  and  she  gave  me  the 
buggy-handle,  as  was  her  wont. 

"  Mr.  Leland  is  here,"  I  explained,  and  pushed 


248  FULFILLMENT 

toward  the  house,  talking  to  my  little  wide-awake 
flower  sitting  up  like  a  big  lady  among  her  dainty 
pillows. 

She  was  laughing  and  gurgling  back  at  me  as 
we  came  up,  and  Mary  skirted  off  to  the  side 
entrance  when  she  saw  him  standing — he  seemed 
to  loom  up  there,  all  alone, — at  the  top  of  the 
steps. 

I  stood  still  for  him  to  take  the  fill  of  his 
eyes,  my  own  blinded,  though  I  knew  he  had 
come  down  a  step  or  two.  Refraining  from  my 
usual  baby -talk  to  her,  I  lifted  her  out  and  car 
ried  her  up  to  where  he  stood  with  outheld  arms. 
I  avoided  looking  at  him. 

"  Do  you  know  how  ?  "  I  asked,  tendering  the 
precious  little  bundle. 

"  Deb  taught  me/'  he  returned  in  queer,  muf 
fled  impatience.  "  It's  all  right — give  her  to 
me !  "  The  command  came  roughly.  I  held  her 
out  and  he  caught  her  in  the  hollow  of  his  arm. 
I  saw  her  tiny  hand  make  a  delighted  grab  for  his 
hair  as  I  turned  from  them  into  the  ell  of  the 
porch.  I  could  hear  him  walking  solemnly  up 
and  down  with  her,  could  hear  the  baby  cooing, 


A  FRAGMENT  249 

knew  she  was  waving  her  little  hands  in  response 
to  the  waving  branches  overhead,  heard  his  low, 
awkward  laugh,  his  attempt  at  unaccustomed 
baby  words,  and  then  I  heard  him  go  down  the 
steps.  The  suggestion  of  kidnapping  even  flashed 
through  me,  but  I  smiled  at  the  sensational  word 
in  connection  with  him,  and  in  the  same  instant 
there  flashed  across  my  vision,  like  words  thrown 
on  a  screen  at  the  movies,  the  forgotten  words  I 
had  intended  saying  to  him  that  epochal  day  after 
the  baby  came  when  I  saw  him,  through  the 
mirror,  coming  toward  me:  "I  am  glad  she  is 
your  child,  George! " 

Their  sudden  resurrection  covered  me  with  a 
burning  blush — their  sentiment  belonged  to  the 
limbo  of  a  morbid  past  against  which  my  present 
buoyant  strength  rebelled,  in  the  face  of  his  ob 
vious  indifference  to  me.  I  stuffed  them  hur 
riedly,  shamefacedly,  from  my  memory. 

For  a  long  time,  it  seemed  to  me,  I  had  heard 
no  sound  from  those  two  making  acquaintance 
together  among  the  roses  and  chrysanthemums, 
and  then  came  the  fretful  little  cry.  I  emerged 
from  my  retreat,  waited  till  I  heard  the  sound 


250  FULFILLMENT 

repeated,  and  then  went  down  the  steps.     He 
came  along  reluctantly. 

"  She's  tired  of  me,  I  suppose,"  he  said,  his  eyes 
upon  her  face,  as  I  came  up  to  them. 

At  sight  of  me  she  held  out  her  arms  and  I 
took  her.  "  She's  too  warm,"  I  reassured  him, 
but  knew  otherwise.  "  We'll  run  up  out  of  the 
sun  and  take  off  her  cap  and  coat." 

He  followed  in  our  heels. 

I  took  off  her  coat  and  tiny  Dutch  cap,  ruf 
fling  up  her  crest  of  golden  curls  as  she  lay  on  my 
knee. 

"  Why,  it's  real  fairy  hair !  "  he  cried  excitedly, 
like  a  boy,  bending  over  us.  "  It's  lighter  than 
yours,  isn't  it  ?  " 

I  felt  foolishly  conscious  of  the  unconscious 
personality.  "  It's  just  a  baby  halo,"  I  answered 
lightly,  but  just  then  she  began  to  scold  and  cry 
in  a  comical  little  way  she  has,  and  I  drew  her  up 
against  my  shoulder,  trying  to  hush  her. 

"What's  the  matter  with  her?"  he  asked, 
standing  troubled  and  awkward  before  us. 

"Nothing  at  all.  She's  doing  the  Little 
Tommy  Tucker  act,  as  usual, — crying  for  her 


A  FRAGMENT  251' 

supper.  You'll  excuse  us  a  few  minutes,  won't 
you?  " 

"  But  why  don't  you "  He  stopped,  drolly 

intuitive,  and  made  a  dive  for  his  hat.  "  I'm 
going,  anyway.  But  first  I  want  a  bite  out  of 
that  dimple  in  her  elbow."  He  took  it,  hungrily. 

"  Look  at  this,"  I  said  unsteadily,  and  turned 
her  over  to  show  her  knees. 

He  snatched  at  the  little  leg  in  its  fallen  sock. 

"  She's  all  dimples,"  I  said  in  a  rush  of  trem 
bling  pride  across  his  bending  head.  "  You 
should  see  her  in  her  bath.  You  never  saw  such 
splashing !  " 

His  long,  nervous  hand  still  held  the  little 
leg  close  in  spite  of  her  sturdy  kicking  and  cry 
ing.  "  I  intend  to  see  her,"  he  returned  in  sudden 
fierceness  through  his  teeth,  let  go  his  hold,  and 
abruptly  took  his  leave,  striding  down  the  long 
walk  without  once  turning  back. 

I  could  not  call  him.  The  last  few  min 
utes  had  been  too  painful.  There  was  a  dreadful 
tumult  within  me — and  the  baby  was  crying. 
But — he  has  declared  something — not  war,  please 
God. 


252  FULFILLMENT 

Deb  came  over  this  evening — a  few  hours  after 
his  visit — for  dinner. 

"  George  is  back,"  I  told  her. 

Her  eyes  dilated  in  amazement.  "  Who  told 
you?"  she  cried,  making  no  attempt  to  keep  the 
joy  out  of  her  voice. 

"  He  did.    He  was  here  this  afternoon." 

I  laughed  resentfully  over  her  unconcealed 
astonishment. 

"  Was  here?    Why  didn't  he  stay?  " 

Deb  can  be  very  raw — when  she  has  a  mind  to 
be.  I  felt  the  blood  mounting  to  my  face.  "  I 
didn't  ask  him  to,"  I  answered  swiftly. 

"Why  not?" 

"  He  only  came  to  see  the  baby." 

"  But  he  saw  you  too,  I  suppose,"  she  returned 
sharply. 

"  Certainly." 

She  gave  me  a  long,  indescribable  look,  but 
said  nothing  further  about  it  until  we  separated 
for  bed,  an  hour  or  so  ago,  when,  rather  incon- 
sequently,  she  observed,  "  You  know,  Gwen,  you 
never  looked  as  you  are  looking  now." 


A  FRAGMENT  253 

I  stared  at  her,  failing  to  discover  the  analogy 
of  her  remark. 

"  I  mean — beautiful,"  she  explained  bluntly. 
"  I  have  no  doubt  George  will  be  over  soon  again 
— to  see  the  baby !  Have  a  care,  Gwen." 

Her  assumption  has  made  me  bitterly  angry. 
What  need  had  she  to  take  open  stock  of  my 
appearance  again?  It  has  meant  nothing  to  me 
for  so  long.  She  has  muddled  everything  now 
for  me  with  that  recall.  I  can't  help  thinking  of 
it.  I  hate  myself! 

Wednesday: — It  has  been  an  abominable  day. 

Olive  Harrison  came  over  in  the  morning  and 
added  confusion  to  Deb's  mischief.  She  came 
straight  out  to  where  I  was  sitting  on  the  lawn, 
drying  my  hair  in  the  sun,  the  baby  asleep  in 
her  buggy  a  yard  away  under  the  tree. 

"Is  it  asleep?"  she  whispered,  tiptoeing  to 
ward  the  buggy. 

"  It  is,"  I  laughed.  "  Wake  her  up  at  your 
peril!" 

Olive  is  a  darling — brimful  of  eighteen-year- 
old  illusions  and  romance — and  I  have  always 


254  FULFILLMENT 

loved  to  have  her  with  me,  but  she  annoyed  me 
today  inexpressibly. 

She  began,  of  course,  with  my  hair. 

"  Spun  gold !  "  she  exclaimed,  flopping  down  on 
the  grass  beside  me.  "  It's  an  incredible  dream, 
Gwen!" 

"What?"  I  frowned,  instantly  on  the  defen 
sive  against  all  suggestion  of  that  sort  of  flat 
tery. 

"  Ooh— what  a  look !  "  She  dropped  the  hand 
ful  she  had  grasped  and  began  taking  off  her  hat 
and  veil.  "  Tell  me  your  love-story,  Gwen." 

"  I  haven't  any,  Ollie." 

"  Love-stories,  I  mean/' 

I  refused  to  answer  her. 

"  Of  course,"  she  laughed  in  her  breathless 
way,  "  I  know  there  is  never  more  than  one.  Of 
course  I  know  that,  Gwen — especially  for  you. 
You  are  such  an  idealist!  Everybody  says  so. 

But  you  are  so I  was  thinking  of  the  many 

others — not  your  husband — who  must  have  loved 
you  madly.  I  know  all  about  you  and  my  own 
brother  Bob — even  if  he  was  only  a  kid.  But  of 
course  I  know  there  can  only  be  one  real  love- 


A  FRAGMENT  255 

story  for  any  woman."  She  caught  her  breath, 
adding  with  starry  eyes,  "  '  They  never  loved 
who  say  that  they  loved  once ! ' 

I  could  have  hooted  aloud  in  my  cynical  amuse 
ment,  so  suddenly  came  the  swift  rending  of  illu 
sion  with  the  voicing  of  the  girl's  tritely  senti 
mental  generality.  Over  me  rushed  the  wider, 
staggering  truth  of  individual  experience.  Me  an 
idealist!  Still  I  made  no  answer,  carefully  un 
twisting  a  snarl  in  my  hair.  Around  us  flowed 
the  resounding  silences  of  the  golden  morning. 
To  Olive,  dreamily  looking  off  into  veiled  dis 
tances,  my  silence  meant  only  acquiescence.  To 
me  the  air  was  full  of  clashing  discords — the  in 
nocent  absolutisms  of  youth,  the  quiet,  hidden, 
forgotten  deaths  in  life, — the  dim  past,  the  vi 
brant  present, — only  then  clamoring  at  the  door 
of  consciousness  with  peremptory  challenge  not 
to  be  denied!  How  could  I  look  the  romantic 
girl  in  the  face  with  all  this  mocking  knowledge 
thrilling  me  with  its  exquisite  pain  ? 

Instead,  with  a  backward  fling  of  the  head,  I 
gathered  all  my  hair  together,  wound  it  round  and 
round  my  head,  sprang  to  my  feet  and  stretch- 


256  FULFILLMENT 

ing  out  my  hands  to  her,  cried  gayly,  "  Get  up, 
Olive,  and  teach  me  the  one-step.  I  feel 
dance-y! " 

In  the  afternoon  came  Lucy  and  Mabel — the 
latter  explaining  that  she  had  come  to  say  good- 
by — and  again  we  answered  the  call  of  the  day 
and  danced  like  Bacchantes,  turning  back  the  rugs 
in  the  spacious  living-room  which  I  have  so 
rarely  used,  and  again  I  felt  wild,  adventuresome 
youth  rampaging  through  me  as,  with  the  others 
or  by  myself,  I  swayed  in  the  romantic,  graceful 
measures.  I  was  always  a  "  natural  "  dancer,  one 
of  the  several  manifestations  of  the  power  of 
rhythm  over  my  imagination,  and  the  girls  ap 
plauded  me  enthusiastically.  But  Mabel,  who  has 
been  over  here  just  one  other  time  in  all  these 
months,  watched  me  in  curious  silence. 

I  walked  with  them  down  to  the  station,  saun 
tering  through  Shady  Lane  because  they  love 
that  long  avenue  of  cloistral  shadow  under  meet 
ing  boughs  of  high  old  elms.  It  was  on  that 
stretch  of  walk  that  Mabel  maneuvered  to  hold 
me  back  while  she  stopped  to  shake  a  pebble  from 
her  low  shoe. 


A  FRAGMENT  257 

"Wait  a  minute,  Gwen,"  she  said,  leaning 
against  a  tree.  "  We'll  catch  up  with  you  in  a 
minute,  girls."  Thus  airily  ordered  to  break 
ranks,  Lucy  and  Olive  sauntered  ahead. 

Mabel  replaced  her  shoe,  stood  a  moment  to 
test  its  comfort,  and  we  moved  slowly  on.  For  a 
few  seconds  there  was  silence  between  us.  I  felt  a 
premonition  of  deliberate  purpose  in  this  obvious 
segregation,  and  waited  with  steeled  nerves. 

She  began  abruptly.  "  You  know  I  came  over 
today  because  we  leave  on  the  yacht  Friday  morn 
ing,  and  I  can't  come  tomorrow." 

"  It  will  be  a  great  adventure  for  you  all." 

"  Perhaps.  I  hear  that  George  was  asked  to 
join  us." 

I  met  her  darting  glance  steadily,  without  an 
swering. 

"  He  was  here,  wasn't  he?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  returned  easily.  "  He  came  to  see 
the  baby." 

"  Yes.  And  you."  Her  sharpness  of  tone  was 
undisguised. 

"Oh,  no,"  I  answered  quietly.  "Only  the 
baby." 


258  FULFILLMENT 

She  gave  a  short,  ringing  laugh,  then  suddenly 
turned  a  pair  of  flashing  eyes  upon  me.  "  Gwen, 
don't  be  a  fool.  Don't  pretend  that  you  don't 
know  that  he  is  madly  in  love  with  you." 

Everything  swayed  before  me  in  a  leafy  con 
fusion.  "  You  are  mistaken,  Mabel,"  I  answered, 
striving  to  speak  calmly.  "  I  can't  explain  to 
you.  You  are  speaking  of  the  past.  He  is  quite 
indifferent  to  me  now — to  say  the  least." 

Her  brown  eyes  narrowed  upon  me  as  if  to 
visualize  something  never  met  before.  "  Indif 
ferent  to  you !  "  she  broke  forth.  "  You  with 
your  face — the  whole  make-up  of  you!  Don't 
you  know  that  you  are  lovelier  than  you  ever 
were  in  your  life?  What  do  you  take  him  for? 
I  assure  you  he  is  very  human.  I  saw  him  last 
night.  I  know  he  came  out  on  purpose  to  talk 
about  you.  The  baby,  yes.  But  it  was  you  he 
couldn't  keep  away  from.  Indifferent  to  you! 
No  matter  what's  happened  between  you,  no 
man  is  indifferent  to  a  woman  who  looks  like 
you!" 

I  could  have  struck  her  in  my  rage.  "  How 
dare  you ! "  I  whispered  suffocatedly.  "  How 


A  FRAGMENT  259 

dare  you  say  such  a  hateful  thing  to  me,  Mabel 
Goddard!" 

"  I  dare,"  she  flung  back  violently,  "  because 
it's  true.  And  because  George  Leland  is  dear  to 
me,  very  dear, — and  I'm  not  going  to  stand  by  and 
see  you  wreck  his  life,  without  saying  a  word. 
I  know  him,  though  you  who  are  his  wife  don't 
seem  to.  Men  know  him  too — strong  as  a  giant 
in  his  unshaken  principles.  Only  you  don't  know 
who  and  what  he  stands  for  in  a  world  of  graft, 
and  hypocrisy,  and  degeneracy.  Why,  you — 
you've  led  him  a  dog's  life !  Don't  I  know,  have 
n't  I  seen  it  from  the  start?  With  that  warm 
temperament  of  his  craving  love  and  tenderness, 
he'd  have  gone  to  the  devil  long  ago  if  he  weren't 
the  stoic  that  he  is.  How  dare  If  How  dare 
yo Uj  Gwendolen  Heath !  " 

We  blazed  at  each  other,  but  I  could  not  find 
utterance,  and  she  could. 

"  You've  ignored  your  responsibility,"  she  ham 
mered  on.  "  You  may  be  a  good  mother,  but 
you've  been  a  bad  wife,  so  you're  only  half  a 
woman.  What's  come  over  you  ?  You  who  were 
so  fine,  so  pure,  you  made  every  other  girl  seem 


260  FULFILLMENT 

common  next  to  you — you  in  whom  I  gloried  be 
cause  you  gave  me  my  girlhood's  ideal — bah! 
What  does  it  all  amount  to  when  tested  by  actu 
alities?  You're  a  married  woman,  and  a  man's 
a  man,  and  it's  up  to  you  to  send  George  Leland 
clean  to  hell, — or  to  come  to  your  senses  at  the 
eleventh  hour,  and  save  him."  She  walked  ahead 
as  if  propelled  by  her  own  violence. 

The  girls  waited  till  we  came  up,  and  presently 
I  was  saying  good-by  to  them  at  the  station  gar 
den.  I  kissed  Mabel  Goddard  too — that  is,  I 
lent  my  cheek  to  her  kiss,  my  eyes  averted. 

That  was  my  day. 

It  is  evening  now — after  eight.  The  vitriol  of 
Mabel's  attack  is  still  eating  into  me.  What  busi 
ness  is  it  of  hers  ?  Ah  well,  friendship  is  a  busi 
ness, — love,  would  better  describe  her  feeling  for 
him, — or  it  should  be,  and  she  does  not  under 
stand.  Perhaps  she  is  right,  perhaps  every  word 
of  her  denunciation  is  deserved.  "  Only  half  a 
woman."  But  I  could  be — whole. 

But  her  insult !  For  it  is  an  insult  to  be  labeled 
as  she  labeled  me — she,  and  Deb,  and  Olive.  I 
do  not  belong  in  the  mere  physical  category  to 


A  FRAGMENT  261 

which  they  have  consigned  me,  thinking  to  praise 
me.  I  will  not  be  the  light  and  prey  of  men's — 
any  man's  eyes!  I  have  struggled  beyond  that 
level.  I  am  more.  My  soul  demands  its  taper. 
Once  upon  a  time  George  Leland  burned  one  to 
me,  now 

I  don't  know  what  I  was  about  to  write  then. 
The  telephone  rang  and  I  had  to  run  to  answer  it. 
It  was  George  Leland.  This  is  what  we  said : 

"  Surprised  to  hear  from  me  so  soon  ?  " 

"  No — not  very."     Surprised ! 

"  Well,  you  see  I've  been  thinking  about  that 
little  mermaid  of — yours.  When  does  her  aquatic 
exhibition  take  place  ?  " 

"  Every  morning  at  about  half-past  eight." 

"  So  early !  Might  a  fellow — would  her  ma 
jesty  allow  a  spectator,  do  you  suppose?" 

"  She  wouldn't  mind,"  I  laughed  unsteadily — 
his  gay  diffidence  was  painfully  comical.  "  Are 
you — when  will  you  come  over  ?  " 

"  Whenever  you  let  me.  I  was  wondering — 
how  would  tomorrow  afternoon  do  so  as  to  be 
on  hand  in  the  morning?  " 

"  Perfectly." 


262  FULFILLMENT 

"  Good.  Thanks  awfully.  I'll  find  a  room  at 
the  hotel,  I  suppose  ?  " 

The  slight  pause  was  inevitable.  "  There  is 
no  real  hotel,"  I  finally  said  quietly.  "  Besides 
this  house  is  large — there  are  several  vacant 
rooms." 

"  Thanks.    I  don't  want  to  inconvenience  you." 

"  You  won't. — What  time  will  you  be  over?  " 

Again  there  was  a  silence,  and  then  he  seemed 
to  speak  with  difficulty — I  could  scarcely  hear 
him.  "  Gwen  " — he  said,  "  what  would  you  say 
— would  you  go  for  a  ride  with  me  in  the  after 
noon?  " 

I  think  my  heart  stood  quite  still,  I  felt  icy — 
as  I  still  feel.  "  If  you  want  to,"  I  answered  in 
a  very  small  voice. 

"  Thanks.  Thank  you  very  much.  I'll  bring 
the  car  over.  Say  at  about — three  ?  At  the  seat 
in  the  little  wood  ?  " 

"  Three— at  the  seat  in  the  little  wood,"  I  re 
peated  mechanically. 

I  came  back  here  and  sat  looking  blindly  down 
for  heaven  knows  how  long  before  I  knew  what 
I  was  looking  at.  It  is  ten  o'clock  now.  To- 


A  FRAGMENT  263 

morrow  afternoon — at  three.  I  shall  not  put  off. 
Life  seems  suddenly  so  uncertain,  so  precarious. 
"  What  if  the  world  should  end  tonight!  "  Be 
still — Memory ! 

I  do  not  know  what  I  shall  say, — but  it  will  be 
everything — everything.  I  shall  not  wait  for  his 
leading.  I  shall  not  be  proud — I  shall  only  be 
true.  Not  "  half  a  woman/'  Mabel. 

Perhaps,  when  the  day  is  over,  I  shall  have 
found  another  confidant,  little  book,  little  friend 
in  need.  Oh,  pray  for  me,  silent  one !  Whom  do 
I  beseech,  and  on  whom  do  I  lean?  Who  but 
myself ! 

I  understand.  I  am  strong.  I  have  grown 
quiet,  spacious  with  experience. 

Old  Law-and-Order  is  watching — having  set 
her  traps.  Why  did  I  write  that? 

Destiny.  What  is  that  ?  Goals — and  meeting- 
places. 

I  am  not  afraid 


II 

THE  ELEVENTH  HOUR 

THE  air  brooded. 

Gwen  Leland  in  her  white  gown,  holding  her 
green  parasol  closed,  looked  dubiously  down  upon 
her  child  asleep  in  her  perambulator  upon  the 
shady  porch.  She  threw  the  light  silken  coat  she 
was  carrying  over  to  the  bench. 

"  Keep  her  here,  Mary,"  she  said  to  the  nurse. 
"  I  won't  be  long.  I  shall  not  go  for  the  ride  Mr. 
Leland  has  planned.  We'll  come  right  back.  Not 
that  I  think  it's  anything,  but " 

"Anything!"  Mary  laughed  her  guttural 
laugh  of  good-natured  ridicule.  "  It's  only  the 
heat.  Look  at  her  now.  Do  you  hear  any  heavy 
breathing?" 

Gwen  listened,  her  face  clearing.  "  No,"  she 
admitted,  "  but  I  have  no  intention  of  going  far," 
and,  with  a  last  intent  look,  she  unfurled  her 
parasol  against  the  sultry  sky  and  fared  forth  to 
her  tryst. 

264 


THE  ELEVENTH  HOUR  265 

She  strolled  across  the  stately,  tree-shadowed 
lawn,  a  slim,  white,  purposeful  figure.  The  lawn 
dipped  directly  at  the  farther  end  into  the  wood, 
or,  rather,  grove  of  eucalyptus  interspersed  with 
sycamore,  oak,  and  laurel,  making  the  air  redolent 
with  spicy  fragrance.  The  sun  filtered  here  and 
there  down  through  lofty  branches,  here  and 
there  through  naked  boughs  lifting  gnarled,  dead 
arms  on  high,  and  fell  in  pools  of  gold  upon  the 
fallen  yellow  leaves.  Her  feet  passed  lightly  over 
the  autumnal  carpet  and  she  came  to  the  desig 
nated  oak  with  its  rude,  dilapidated,  circular  seat. 
She  stood  and  looked  about  her.  The  place  was 
very  still;  save  for  an  intermittent  rustling  among 
the  topmost  boughs,  like  the  sound  of  a  dis 
tant  sea,  no  sound  reached  her.  No  bird  flitted 
or  broke  the  silence.  She  looked  about  her  with 
listening  eyes,  a  smile  touching  her  lips  at  sight 
of  the  natural  opening,  high  as  a  man's  head,  in 
the  spreading  old  elm  opposite.  A  capital  place 
in  which  to  play  highwayman ! 

She  sat  down,  crossing  her  slender  white  feet 
before  her.  She  was  glad  to  wait.  Should  she 
get  up  and  go  to  meet  him  at  sound  of  his 


266  FULFILLMENT 

car  on  the  road  beyond,  or  should  she  wait  and 
let  him  seek  her  ?  She  decided  to  wait.  The  little 
spot  seemed  set,  enshrined  for  some  sweet  secrecy. 
She  turned  her  face  toward  the  short  declivity 
leading  abruptly  to  the  road,  picturing  his  lean, 
alert  face  as  he  would  come  striding  through  the 

debarring  boughs.  A  boyish  face,  after  all 

She  closed  her  eyes  for  a  space  till  the  high  tide 
in  her  heart  had  ebbed. 

A  leaf  crackled. 

She  turned  her  startled  head  toward  the  sound 
coming  from  the  direction  of  the  house.  The 
soft  crackling  came  nearer.  From  behind  a 
clump  of  laurels  there  suddenly  came  into  view  the 
figure  of  Austin  Dane,  steadily  approaching 
her. 

She  did  not  move.  She  felt  strangely  still. 
Kismet,  her  soul  announced  to  her,  silenced.  He 
had  been  coming  thus  toward  her  from  that  far 
day  unto  this.  Only  she  had  not  known.  Goals. 
His  goal — and  hers !  Or — was  it  a  dream,  a  pro 
jection  of  mind — an  ironic  illusion  wrought  by 
the  rebirth  of  a  great  emotion — love's  relentless 
immortality  ? 


THE  ELEVENTH  HOUR  267 

Illusion  or  reality,  he  stood  squarely  before 
her,  masterful  as  of  old,  unchanged  in  his  blond 
masculinity,  smiling  down  in  possessive  security 
at  the  slender,  nymph-like  creature  straining 
backward  against  the  tree. 

For  a  second  he  did  not  speak,  content  to 
claim  her  with  his  eyes.  Then  the  fear  in  hers 
arrested  him. 

"You  received  my  letter  today? — You  came 
here,  expecting  me,  the  maid  at  the  house  said." 
His  voice,  constrained  to  gentleness,  stirred  her 
strangely,  like  a  wind  among  dead  leaves. 

She  shook  her  head  in  the  dumb  anguish  of 
denial. 

'  You  received  my  letter — the  many  letters  you 
have  never  answered,  Gwen?  You  knew  that, 
eventually,  I  must  come?" 

She  shook  her  head  again  before  the  words 
could  come  in  jerking  whispers  to  her  pale  lips. 
"  Never  read — all  destroyed — only  one — I  an 
swered." 

He  smiled  in  forced  amusement.  "  Yes,  you 
told  me  you  were  married.  That  all  was  ended 
between  us, — but  every  word  attested  to  your  un- 


268  FULFILLMENT 

dying  love  for  me.  Ah,  Gwen,  what  nonsense 
from  you,  darling !  " 

Quickly  over  the  blanched  face  he  was  regard 
ing  spread  a  mantle  of  flame.  "  Go  away,"  she 
said  in  hurried  excitement.  "  Go  now — at  once ! 
You  are  nothing  to  me.  It  is  over.  Understand 
that — ended  forever." 

He  laughed,  incredulous.  "What  ended  it?" 
he  demanded  roughly,  his  eyes  plowing  into  her. 

Her  hand  clenched  against  her  breast  as  she 
met  his  dominance  with  darkened  eyes  of  earnest 
ness.  "  My  child  ended  it,"  she  answered  simply. 

He  raised  derisive  brows.  "  What — you,  a 
cave-woman  ?  "  he  ridiculed. 

She  was  on  her  feet,  challenging  him  daunt- 
lessly.  "  Call  it  what  you  will — elemental — 
primitive — it's  myself. — Beneath  the  veneer  of 
the  moment — whatever  the  traditional  power  that 
— that  turns  a  woman  to  the  father  of  her  child 
— to  that — and  to  your  sneer — I  belong.  Now  I 
ask  you  to  leave  me — and  at  once,  and  forever. 
Go,  I  say!" 

She  was  unconscious  of  self,  of  the  madden 
ing  urge  of  her  menacing  beauty,  all  she  craved 


THE  ELEVENTH  HOUR  269 

was  to  be  rid  of  him,  instantly,  and,  since  he  made 
no  move,  she  turned  to  go,  but  was  frustrated, 
swept  into  his  arms  with  terrific  power,  strangled 
into  speechlessness  against  his  breast. 

"  Leave  you  ?  "  he  repeated,  his  lips  upon  her 
hair.  "Leave  you!"  he  laughed  aloud,  kissing 
her  eyes,  without  releasing  her.  "  Because  of 
that  poor  little  moral  lie  with  which  you're  trying 
to  delude  and  mutilate  your  soul — and  mine? 
You're  mine,  you  know,  no  matter  what  you 
say.  You  were  mine  before  you  were  his.  You 
gave  yourself  to  me  wholly,  completely,  as 
only " 

But  Gwen,  battling  against  him,  heard  no  word 
of  it  all ;  her  eyes  were  caught,  transfixed  by  the 
sudden  ghastly  face  glaring  at  her  through  the 
opening  in  the  old  elm  tree  just  a  yard  from 
where  she  stood  bound  in  her  lover's  embrace, 
but  as,  as  suddenly  as  it  had  appeared  it  dis 
appeared,  she  tore  herself  free  with  the  strength 
of  madness,  and  dashed  after  the  stricken  face, 
the  one  face  the  world  held  for  her  in  that  ap 
palling  hour. 

She  was  fleet,  she  was  wild,  and  she  gained 


270  FULFILLMENT 

upon  him,  crying  frantically,  "  George !  George 
—wait!" 

He  gave  no  heed.  His  foot  had  almost  touched 
the  road  when  the  wild  thing  reached  him,  flung 
herself  upon  him  and,  as  he  turned,  caught  at  his 
coat  lapel  in  speechless  desperation. 

"  Let  go,"  he  choked  out,  blind  to  her  misery, 

white  with  fury.  "  You — you !  Go  back  to 

your  lover — and  his  child.  I  understand  you 
now.  What  are  you — and  your  child  to  me? 
Nothing.  Let  go,  I  say !  " 

He  shook  her  off  as  an  enraged  mastiff  might  a 
clinging  kitten,  and  she,  stumbling  over  a  gnarled 
root,  fell  headlong,  her  hands  outspread  against 
the  passionless  earth. 

Stunned,  she  lay,  unheeding  time, — time,  deal 
ing  out  crises  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  time, 
the  ruthless  dramatist.  She  heard  the  chug-chug 
of  his  fleeing  car,  and  that  passed,  and  she  heard 
nothing  more.  Except  for  one  long,  shuddering 
sob,  she  lay  perfectly  silent  and  motionless.  Why 
try  to  get  up, — what  did  anything  matter?  She 
closed  her  eyes  against  continuance,  against  the 
whole  sorry  scheme  of  things.  Where  had  his 


THE  ELEVENTH  HOUR  271 

eyes  been  ?  Could  he  not  see  that  she  was  strug 
gling  against  the  outrage  of  those  violating  arms  ? 
"  Your  lover — and  his  child !  "  A  moaning  laugh 
broke  from  her  over  his  madness.  That  he  could 
think,  even  for  a  passing,  insane  moment,  that  of 
her!  But  he  had  not  thought — he  had  simply 
mentally  lynched  her  and  her  child's  fair  name, 
asking  no  further  evidence  for  condemnation 
than  a  half-glance, — the  distorted  vision  of  a 
cataclysmal  moment.  That  was  the  "  love  "  with 
which  Mabel  had  confounded  her.  The  bitter 
ness  of  the  irony  overwhelmed  her.  But  slowly, 
through  the  bitterness,  stole  the  spirit  of  relent 
less  justice  with  its  writing  on  the  wall,  the  in 
evitable  witness  for  the  prosecution,  the  further 
"  circumstantial  evidence/'  lying  fallow  for  this 
day  of  judgment :  those  unforgettable  days  of  her 
honeymoon, — her  all  too  evident  and  vain  efforts 
toward  acceptance,  her  dumb  rage  before  their 
return,  her  forever  unpardonable  repudiation  of 

him  that  day  in  Deborah's  room 

She  twisted  herself  up  to  a  sitting  position,  wip 
ing  her  dusty  hands  on  her  white  gown.  She 
stared  down  at  the  gray  stains  in  shivering  loath- 


272  FULFILLMENT 

ing.  She  hated  stains.  What  a  disgusting  daub 
life  was !  What  was  the  good  of  anything — any 
thing?  Everybody  in  everybody's  way — every 
thing  muddled  and  snarled  together.  What  melo 
dramatic  clap-trap  trick  of  fate  had  brought  Austin 
Dane  to  that  particular  spot  at  that  particular  mo 
ment  ?  His  letters — his  unopened  letters — sprang 
in  swift  vision  to  her  battling  defenselessness. 
No,  there  was  nothing  sudden,  nothing  melodra 
matic  about  his  coming, — probably  he  had  been 
warning  her  against  this  very  day, — nature  is 
never  sudden,  never  melodramatic — "  The  mills 
of  the  gods  grind  slowly," — only  she  had  not 
known!  Goals  again?  His,  leading  undeviat- 
ingly  to  her, — and  hers,  deflected  unfalteringly 
away  from  him  to  another ! 

She  sprang  in  sudden  desperation  to  her  feet. 

Hark! 

She  stood  listening,  like  an  entrapped  stag. 
What  sound  was  that?  There  was  no  sound. 
The  woods  were  still — deserted,  save  for  her. 

No  footstep Not  even  an  echo Was 

it  an  echo?  Ah,  the  wail  of  a  child! 

And  over  the  carpet  of  leaves,  and  through  the 


THE  ELEVENTH  HOUR  273 

besetting  boughs,  she  flashed,  as  might  a  spirit, 
winged  through  with  motherhood. 


The  red- faced,  kindly  country  doctor  pursed 
his  lips  together  in  important  consideration.  He 
solemnly  shook  his  head.  "  Temperature  high, 
but  nothing  pronounced,  as  yet.  We  must  watch 
developments." 

The  eyes  of  the  graven- faced  mother  bored 
into  him. 

"  U-uh,"  he  stammered,  "  it — uh — probably  is 
the  throat,  but  may  not  prove  serious.  The  little 
Laurence  child — did  you  speak,  Madam? — the 
little  Laurence  child  has  a  bad  diphtheritic  sore 

throat,  but — I  did  not  wish  to  alarm  you " 

He  drew  up  a  chair  for  her. 

She  had  not  spoken,  she  had  only  turned  a 
shade  more  marble-hued. 

Through  the  night  she  held  her  world  in  her 
arms.  Through  the  night  the  sentinel  pines  at 
the  gate  swayed  and  moaned  in  wintry  desola 
tion,  and  wrung  high,  wild,  futile  arms  against  a 
pitiless  gray  sky. 


274  FULFILLMENT 

Winter  had  suddenly  encompassed  her, — win 
ter  without,  as  within. 

In  the  dawn,  under  the  leaden  sky,  a  limousine 
sped  quietly  away  down  the  Lagunitas  road,  bear 
ing  within  a  woman  holding  her  child  in  her 
arms.  The  sentinel  pines  waved  high  and  long 
farewells  after  the  departing  vision. 

The  little  house  on  the  city  heights  opened  wide 
its  heavy,  old,  familiar  door  to  receive  them  and, 
swallowing  them  up,  closed  abruptly,  presenting 
an  inscrutable  front  to  peering  curiosity. 

Science  came  in,  sure-footed.  Love  watched, 
devotion  tended,  idolatry  sacrificed. 

Only  once,  on  the  morning  of  the  second  day, 
her  attention  veered.  "  Telephone  to  George," 
she  commanded  Deborah.  "  Tell  him  that  the 
baby  is  very  ill,  and  he  must  come  at  once." 

Deborah  came  back  with  the  astounding  in 
formation  that  he  had  left  the  morning  previous 
on  the  Palisser  yacht,  bound  for  the  South 
Seas. 

Gwen  stood  gently  swaying  before  her,  her 
child  in  her  arms,  hushing  its  moaning.  The 
blow  arrested  the  swaying,  otherwise  she  gave 


THE  ELEVENTH  HOUR  275 

no  sign.  "  Send  a  wireless,"  she  ordered  in  stern 
brevity. 

Deborah  came  back,  faltering,  hesitant,  with 
the  further  remarkable  information  that  the 
yacht,  intentionally,  carried  no  wireless  equip 
ment. 

For  a  moment  the  dilated  eyes  closed.  Then, 
"  That  is  finished,"  she  said  quietly,  and  went  on 
with  her  swaying. 

Science  fought,  love  watched,  devotion  tended, 
idolatry  sacrificed. 

Came  a  day  when  neither  love,  nor  devotion, 
nor  sacrifice  availed, — when  Science  stood  back 
with  humble  head. 

Then  the  mother  knew  God.  In  her  impotence 
she  knew  Him.  She  fell  on  her  knees  and 
prayed. 

She  prayed  the  prayer  which  begins  with  "  Our 
Father,"  and  ends  with,  "For  ever."  "My 
daily  bread,"  her  white  lips  silently  repeated  in 
finale.  "Oh,  God,  give  me  this  day  my  daily 
bread,"  she  prayed. 

She  arose,  her  empty  arms  groping  back  for 
their  treasure.  Deborah  stood  between,  her 


276  FULFILLMENT 

tender  arms  outstretched.    Gwen  looked  into  her 
compassionate  face  with  eyes  distended  in  horror. 
Then  merciful  oblivion  came  and  covered  up 
the  night  in  her  soul. 


BOOK  III 
THE  WOMAN 

"  I  feel  for  the  common  chord  again,  .   .  . 

.   .   .  and  I  stand  on  alien  ground, 

Surveying  awhile  the  heights  I  rolled  from  into  the  deep ; 
Which,  hark,  I  have  dared  and  done,  for  my  resting  place  is 

found — 
The  C  Major  of  this  life." 

BROWNING. 


CHAPTER  I 

"  WATCHMAN,  WHAT  OF  THE 
NIGHT?" 

LOOKING  back  in  after  years  at  that  dark  inter 
lude,  Deborah  never  ceased  to  wonder  at  its 
utter  calm.  After  Gwen  had  come  out  of  the 
great  torpor  of  mind  and  body — augmented  by  a 
slight  infection  of  the  ravaging  disease — which 
at  once  fell  upon  her,  only  her  appearance  spoke 
of  her  heavy  desolation.  Silence  enshrouded  that 
abyss.  There  was  no  mention  of  the  child,  and, 
to  Deborah,  she  moved  as  one  who  has  said  to 
herself,  "  I  shall  go  softly  all  my  years  in  the  bit 
terness  of  my  soul."  It  was  as  if  life,  in  its  in 
evitable  scheme  of  teaching,  had  at  last  seized  her 
face  between  its  hands  and,  ruthlessly  peering 
down  into  her  eyes,  delivered  its  final  lesson. 
And,  from  the  awful  chastening,  the  woman  had 
emerged  emotively  stilled,  fashioned  to  a  nun-like 
quietude. 

279 


280  FULFILLMENT 

Illusion  was  dead,  vanity  was  dead,  emotion 
lay  prostrate  after  its  last  great  battle.  Wisdom 
was  hers  and,  with  it,  the  fortitude  born  of  ex 
perience.  There  remained  to  her  now  the  pass 
ing  of  the  days,  and  the  choice  lay  with  her 
whether  the  days  were  to  pass  over  her,  or  she 
over  the  days.  That  she  chose  the  latter  was  com 
mentary  of  the  strength  of  her  abiding  self — the 
residuum  after  the  struggle,  the  residuum  which, 
potential  from  the  beginning,  survives  everything, 
and  stands  forth  as  character. 

It  did  not  declare  itself  at  once.  For  a  while, 
a  week,  perhaps  two,  her  withdrawal  within  her 
self  was  fearsome  in  its  absoluteness.  Yet  that 
she  showed  no  interest  in  Deborah's  little  offer 
ings  of  love, — a  gown  or  hat  sent  home  and 
tendered  with  scarcely  a  comment,  a  dainty  dish 
to  coax  her  lost  appetite,  fragrant  flowers  at  her 
elbow, — was  to  be  expected.  Before  her  hushed 
austerity  Deborah  drew  aside  as  if  in  the  pres 
ence  of  dread  sovereignty,  and  friendship,  rush 
ing  to  comfort,  understood,  when  turned  away  at 
the  door  with  the  tentative  formula,  "  Mrs.  Le- 
land  is  receiving  no  one  at  present,"  delivered 


"WHAT  OF  THE  NIGHT?"          281 

in  laconic  sadness  by  Martha,  her  faithful  cus 
todian. 

It  was  Martha  who  watched, — Deborah  having 
resumed  her  work, — furtively  noting  her  daily 
goings  and  comings  in  the  morning  hours,  know 
ing  well  whither  she  was  driven,  but  reporting 
nothing  of  it  to  the  older  sister,  and  Martha  who 
waited,  in  her  canny  reckoning,  for  the  inevitable 
turning  even  of  this  apparently  unending  road. 

She  thought  it  was  reached  the  day  she  heard 
her  calling  up  Leland's  office  in  inquiry  as  to  the 
date  of  his  return  and  severing  the  connection 
with  the  request  that  she  be  notified  as  soon  as 
they  should  hear.  But  the  short  parley  was  not 
significant  of  change.  However,  it  came  sooner 
than  looked  for,  and  it  was  Martha  herself  who, 
without  premeditation,  cried  the  halt. 

Returning  one  morning  from  her  solitary  pil 
grimage,  skirting  the  lower  terrace  and  letting 
herself  in  by  the  side  door,  as  was  her  wont  to 
avoid  meeting  even  the  familiar  face  of  her  old 
nurse,  Gwen  found  the  latter  crouching  together 
in  a  chair  by  the  kitchen  table. 

She  stood  still,  in  rigid  impassivity,  regarding 


282  FULFILLMENT 

her  with  arrested  interest.  "  What  is  it,  Mar 
tha  ? "  she  finally  demanded,  finding  it  a  wrench 
to  speak. 

"It's  nothin',   darlint.     Don't  be  botherin'," 
Martha  groaned  apologetically.     "  It's  only  me 
back — I  couldn't  shtraighten  it  a  while  ago  af ther 
shtoopin'  over  the  oven.    An'  I  can't  git  up,  now" 
that  I'm  down." 

Gwen  had  drawn  off  her  gloves  and  had  her 
arms  about  her  middle  before  she  had  finished 
explaining.  "  Lumbago,"  she  pronounced  briefly. 
"  Come  up  to  bed.  Yes,  you  can.  Don't  be 
afraid  to  bear  on  me.  You  must.  Then  we'll  see 
the  doctor." 

She  assumed  charge  at  once,  peremptorily  si 
lencing  Martha's  troubled  protestations  and  get 
ting  her  to  bed  with  surprising  dexterity.  From 
the  comfort  of  her  pillows  Martha  set  her  trem 
bling  jaw  and  accepted  her  ministrations  with  a 
sudden  cunning  resignation  and  shining  eyes  of 
pride.  When  Deb  came  home  she  found  her 
moving  in  quiet  assurance  about  her  self- 
appointed  nursing,  serving  her  servant  with  the 
calm  understanding  and  grave  gentleness  which 


11  WHAT  OF  THE  NIGHT?  "          283 

henceforth  was  to  inform  her  every  act.  Deb's 
and  Martha's  eyes  met  in  swift  eloquence,  and 
when  her  nurse's  back  was  turned  Martha  put  an 
admonitory  finger  to  her  lip. 

For  three  weeks  Gwen,  with  the  aid  of  a  con 
venient  "  Jap/'  managed  the  little  household  and 
tended  her  well-loved  charge  with  beautiful  care. 
During  that  time  her  daily  pilgrimages  were,  of 
necessity,  discontinued,  and  her  terrible  silences 
broken.  Fitful  though  their  conversations  were 
in  the  beginning,  Deborah  hailed  them  with 
thanksgiving  after  the  pall  which  had  greeted  all 
her  efforts  hitherto,  and  when  Gwen's  friends 
again  presented  themselves,  scarcely  hoping  to  be 
received,  they  found  her,  in  spite  of  the  wistful 
sadness  of  her  eyes  and  lips,  gently  interested  in 
everything  which  had  claimed  her  before.  The 
day's  need  had  saved  her. 

On  the  night  after  her  return  from  consigning 
Martha  into  the  care  of  her  "  favorite  niece  "  at 
Fruitvale,  whither  she  had  been  ordered  to  take 
a  long-needed  rest,  Gwen  further  broke  through 
the  wall  of  reticence  behind  which  grief  had  in 
trenched  her. 


284  FULFILLMENT 

She  had  been  standing  a  long  time  at  the  win 
dow,  looking  out  at  the  night  with  its  ribbon  of 
flashing  lights  running  down  either  side  of  the 
steep  hill  into  a  far  beyond,  when  she  partly 
turned  toward  Deborah  and  the  peaceful,  lamp- 
lit  room,  and  said  quietly,  "  I  have  decided  what 
I  am  going  to  do,  Deb." 

Deb  looked  up  from  her  Argonaut. 

"To  do  when,  dear?" 

The  peace  of  the  room  seemed  interwoven  with 
their  voices,  especially  with  Gwen's,  from  whose 
the  note  of  joy  which  had  always  marked  it,  like 
the  touch  of  a  spring  morning,  had  wholly  de 
parted. 

"  Now — always.  I  mean  I  have  decided  upon 
a  profession."  She  turned  more  fully  toward 
her,  her  hand  still  holding  back  the  curtain. 

The  dove  of  peace  took  startled  flight  from 
Deborah's  countenance. 

"A  profession!     You?     What  for?" 

"  As  an  occupation — a  means  of  livelihood." 

"  But — your  husband,  Gwen?  " 

"  I  have  no  husband,  Deb." 

The  low-spoken  words  brought  a  white  shadow 


"WHAT  OF  THE  NIGHT?"          285 

to  Deborah's  cheek  and  fear  into  her  eyes.  "  I 
don't  understand  you,"  she  said  helplessly. 

"  I  mean  that  George  has  left  me,"  Gwen  ex 
plained  with  painful  exactitude. 

"What  are  you  saying?"  Deb  demanded 
fiercely,  and  the  air  was  charged  with  battle. 

"  That  George  has  left  me,  Deb." 

"  How  do  you  mean  that  he  has  left  you  ?  I 
know  that  he  is  off  on  that  crazy  yachting  trip, 
but  he  is  coming  back." 

"  But  he  has  left  me,  never  to  return." 

"  Left  you  how  ?  Deliberately  ? — silently  ? — 
in  anger  ? — how  ?  " 

"  In  violent,  deathless  hatred."  She  spoke 
without  expression,  but  directly,  as  of  someone 
far  removed  from  her  interest. 

Her  unnatural  calm  struck  Deborah  with  in 
tolerable  suspicion.  "  What  had  happened  ?  "  she 
accused  in  ugly  hoarseness. 

"  A  mistake.  A  singular  trick  of  coincidence 
which  can  never  be  satisfactorily  explained." 

"Why  can't  it?  Words  are  cheap.  You're 
not  living  in  a  book.  Why  can't  you  explain — at 
once — if  you  want  to?" 


286  FULFILLMENT 

"  I  want  to.  I  intend  to.  I  tried  to,  at  my 
first  opportunity.  Unfortunately,  he  had  already 
cut  himself  off  from  all  communication." 

"  Perhaps  he  has  returned." 

"  No,  I  have  inquired.     I  must  wait." 

"But  then,  Gwen?" 

"  He  will  not  believe  me,  Deb."  The  words 
were  final  as  an  epitaph  in  their  stony  calm. 

"  I'll  make  him  believe  you,"  blazed  Deb, 
bringing  her  fist  down  on  the  table. 

"  No.  It  rests  with  me.  Not  to  bring  him 
back.  Never  that.  Only  to  right  a  wrong  he  has 
done  me — and  another." 

The  grayness  which  had  only  recently  lifted 
from  her  face  had  settled  again  upon  it.  She 
came  toward  the  light,  a  woman  of  many  sor 
rows.  Deborah  beheld  her  in  bitter  forlornness. 

"  So,"  continued  the  gray- faced  woman  in  sum 
mary,  a  wintry  smile  just  touching  her  lips,  "  one 
must  buckle  down  to  what  the  gods  provide,  and 
I  have  chosen  a  profession.  I  think  I  shall  be 
successful  in  it.  You  can  guess  what  it  is,  Deb." 

"  No,"  returned  the  other  in  harsh  resent 
ment. 


"WHAT  OF  THE  NIGHT?"          287 

"  Nursing.     I  think  I'll  make  a  good  nurse." 
Quick,  hot  tears  scalded  Deb's  eyes  as  she  re 
garded  her. 

"  It  will  be  an  outlet,"  Gwen  vouchsafed  from 
her  reticences,  and  the  grayness  of  her  face  was 
replaced  by  a  sort  of  alabaster  glow.  "  I  shall 
specialize  on  children.  I  know  so  much  about 
children."  She  was  looking  straight  into  her 
sister's  eyes,  ignoring  their  misty  tenderness. 
"  I  am  going  down  to  Dr.  Knightley's  tomor 
row."  She  drew  a  long  breath,  and  added  in 
brisk  lightness,  "  You  see  how  we  move  in  circles, 
Deb.  We're  back  to  first  intentions.  Not  quite 
back  though — the  parallel  lifts  higher.  After  all 
— perhaps  because  of  all — I've  found  my  voca 
tion  at  last." 


CHAPTER  II 
STRESS 

THE  morrow  found  her  in  the  physician's 
office.  Dr.  Knightley  rose  in  surprised  concern 
at  her  entrance. 

"  Martha  again  ?  "  he  questioned,  holding  her 
hand  with  warm  pressure. 

"  No,  merely  and  strictly  business."  She  took 
the  chair  facing  his.  "  I  won't  keep  you.  Doctor, 
I  want  to  train  for  a  nurse." 

"  Cap  and  apron  and  all?  " 

She  met  his  raillery  intrepidly.  "  Mostly  the 
all.  Don't  you  consider  me  capable — after  all 
your  late  encomiums?" 

"  Capable !  You'd  make  pain  a  luxury !  But 
whence  this  sudden  inspiration  ?  Martha  too  ?  " 

"  Partly  Martha,  partly  other  things.  Will  you 
use  your  good  offices  to  get  me  into  the  Chil 
dren's  Hospital?" 

"Dear  lady,  why?" 

288 


STRESS  289 

"  For  both  moral  and  economic  reasons.  I 
must  have  something  to  do." 

He  considered  her  keenly,  shaking  his  head  in 
refusal,  but  desisting  in  the  face  of  her  persistent 
gaze. 

"  Choice?  "  he  ventured  shortly. 

"  Yes.  Choice  and  chance."  Always  at  ease 
with  him,  she  went  on,  looking  beyond  him  as  if 
spelling  out  the  writing  on  a  wall.  "  I  have  dis 
covered  those  two  to  be  interchangeable  terms. 
Blind  chance  leads  us  to  unforeseen  choice,  blind 
choice  to  unforeseen  chance.  I  did  not  start  out 
with  this  goal  in  view,  but  I  have  come  to  it,  as 
to  a  journey's  end,  by  divers  chancings  and 
choosings.  I  think  it  is  my  calling — my  call  from 
the  children." 

His  eyes  were  shining  queerly  upon  her  from 
behind  his  glasses.  "  You  do,  eh  ? "  he  said 
brusquely. 

"  Yes.  One  must  devote  one's  self  to  some 
thing.  I  could  so  gladly  devote  all  my  powers — 
and  they  are  not  few  or  to  be  sneered  at — to  this. 
You  believe  that,  don't  you,  doctor?" 

"Believe  what?" 


290  FULFILLMENT 

"  In  my  powers." 

"  Only  too  well.  You'd  reach  the  ideal — if  you 
could  cut  out  the  fanatic. " 

"  Nevermore  that,  dear  friend.  I  have  out 
lived  that  phase." 

He  bent  his  head  in  deference  to  all  she  im 
plied,  the  while,  from  under  his  pent  brows,  his 
eyes  measured  her  whole  personality. 

"  It  takes  strength,"  he  warned. 

"  I  am  strong." 

"  And  endurance." 

"  I  can  endure." 

"  And  renunciation." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  renounce." 

"And  ugly  sights." 

"  I  can  face  anything." 

"  And  self-control." 

"  I  am  quiet." 

"  And  devotion." 

"  That  is  what  I  am  seeking."  She  voiced  the 
eternal  feminine. 

He  got  up  impulsively,  walking  away  from  her, 
his  hands  thrust  in  his  pockets.  When  he  came 
back  to  stand  before  her  again,  he  said  gruffly, 


STRESS  291 

"  Have  you  considered  this  move  from  every 
view-point?  " 

She  stood  up  straight  and  alert.  "  I  have  over 
looked  nothing,"  she  returned,  meeting  his 
scrutiny  squarely. 

"  And  your — your  people  consent?  " 

Her  eyes  did  not  waver.  "  I  need  no  one's 
consent,"  she  answered  concisely.  "  My  sister 
understands." 

He  flushed  under  the  obvious  omission  in  her 
rejoinder,  and  bowed  his  head  in  comprehension. 
"  Then  I  have  nothing  further  to  oppose.  I  will 
supply  you  with  an  application-blank,  and  you 
may  leave  the  rest  to  me.  It  may  take  some  little 
time  before  you  are  admitted." 

Her  face  fell. 

"  Besides,  as  your  physician,  I  should  prefer 
you  to  wait  a  while — till  you  get  a  little  more 
nurse-ly  looking.  The  strain  at  first  is  heavy. 
Get  out  in  the  air  and  gather  roses." 

"  I  am  well — I  never  have  much  color.  I  beg 
you  not  to  make  me  wait  unnecessarily.  This  is 
no  whim."  She  held  out  her  hand  and  he  took 
it  in  both  his. 


292  FULFILLMENT 

He  turned  away  from  closing  the  door  after 
her,  with  a  disapproving  shake  of  the  head.  "  A 
call  from  the  children !  "  echo  mentally  repeated. 
"  Whose  children  ?  "  Thought,  already  filled  with 
her  image,  flew  to  another.  "  Humph !  "  he 
grunted,  and  the  disapproving  shake  of  his  head 
slowed  to  emphatic  determination. 

Gwen,  in  view  of  the  enforced  delay,  was  not 
quiescent.  The  day  after  her  visit  to  the  doctor 
she  set  her  face  town  ward  armed  with  a  stiff,  flat 
package,  and,  mounting  in  the  lift  of  the  Even 
ing  Messenger  building,  she  presented  herself  at 
the  office  of  the  business  manager  of  that  news 
paper,  and  was  admitted  to  his  presence  with  un 
expected  celerity. 

She  found  the  dignitary  half  hidden  behind  a 
high  desk,  immersed  in  papers  and  writing  ab- 
sorbedly.  She  stood  a  moment  waiting  for  him 
to  look  up  but,  as  he  gave  no  sign,  she  spoke. 

"Mr.  Martin." 

The  busy  pen  paused,  the  dark  head  jerked  up 
and  toward  her. 

"  Miss  Heath !  "  Laurence  Martin  was  on  his 
feet,  coming  toward  her  with  welcoming  hands, 


STRESS  293 

like  a  ghost  from  another  existence.  "  Mrs. 
Leland,  I  mean,"  he  laughed.  "  I  recognized  your 
voice  in  the  dark."  He  held  her  hand,  his  eyes 
enfolding  her. 

She  withdrew  her  hand.  "  May  I  speak  to  you 
a  few  minutes,  on  business?" 

He  swung  round  a  chair  for  her  and  sat  down 
before  her,  attentive. 

For  a  moment  she  seemed  to  hesitate  to  speak, 
sitting  very  erect,  very  austere  in  her  simple  black 
garb,  her  pallor,  and  her  gravity,  her  slender 
gloved  hands  resting  upon  the  flat  package  she 
held  upon  her  lap. 

"  I  wrote  you,"  he  bridged  the  pause,  in  low- 
voiced  sympathy,  but  she  quickly  interrupted. 

fc  Thank  you,"  she  said,  briefly  matter-of-fact. 
"  It  was  kind  of  you  to  remember.  I  answered 
your  note,  I  think.  I  came  to  ask  your  opinion, 
or,  rather,  your  friendly  influence  in  disposing 
of — this.  You  have  a  '  Children's  Corner '  every 
night  in  your  paper,  haven't  you?" 

He  found  the  romantic  beauty  of  her  changed 
face  very  alluring,  the  grave  set  of  her  lip,  the 
still,  gray  pools  of  her  eyes,  the  rich  glint  of 


294  FULFILLMENT 

her  hair  under  her  small,  close  black  velvet  hat, 
the  utter  aloofness  of  her  slim  grace.  He  had 
heard  rumors  of  Leland's  defection.  In  a  certain 
sense  she  was  Gwen  Heath  again,  made  to  woo. 
He  bent  nearer.  "  I  am  yours  to  command,"  he 
assured  her  gently.  "What  is  it?" 

"  I  have  brought  two  short — very  short — 
stories  I  should  like  to  sell — children's  stories.  I 
am  troubling  you  because  I  thought  you  would 
see  that  they  would  receive  prompt  attention.  I 
counted,  you  see,  on  our  old  acquaintance."  She 
spoke  incisively,  tendering  him  the  manuscript. 

"  You  don't  expect  me  to  pronounce  on  them, 
do  you  ?  "  he  smiled,  taking  the  package  from  her. 
"  I'm  as  unregenerate  as  ever,  and  no  judge  of 
baby-food,  you  know,  but  I'll  guarantee  you  the 
prompt  attention  from  the  editor  of  the  *  Corner/ 
Thank  you  for  trusting  to  our  '  old  acquaint 
ance.'  " 

"It  is  I  who  thank  you,"  she  returned  hur 
riedly.  "  And  about  the  remuneration — if  they 
are  available  ?  " 

He  flushed  uncomfortably  under  the  incon 
gruity  of  this  unblushing,  straightforward  de- 


STRESS  295 

mand  from  George  Leland's  wife.  "  That  will  be 
according  to  space — unless  otherwise  stipulated," 
he  was  forced  to  answer. 

"  Whatever  your  terms  may  be.  I  need  the 
money."  She  arose  to  go,  her  eyes  resting  on 
the  package  where  he  had  placed  it  upon  the  desk. 
"  It  is  a  wrench  to  leave  them,"  she  submitted 
wistfully,  and  a  faint  color  suffused  her  cheek, 
"  but  I  think— the  children— will  like  them." 

It  was  the  first  sign  of  humanness  she  had 
evinced.  He  responded  swiftly.  "  I  am  sure  of 
it — since  you  wrote  them.  Must  you  go  al 
ready  ?  "  His  hand  closed  firmly  over  the  one 
she  had  extended. 

She  withdrew  it  quickly  again,  the  softness 
banished  from  her  aspect.  "  Yes.  Then  you  will 
let  me  know  ?  " 

"  I'll  come  to  tell  you." 

The  severity  of  her  mouth  deepened.  "  I  pre 
fer  to  keep  the  transaction  upon  a  business  basis, 
Mr.  Martin,"  she  repulsed.  "  If  it  is  necessary 
for  me  to  call  here,  I  will  come.  I  expect  no 
favors."  She  moved  to  go. 

"  Ah— Mrs.  Leland !  "    She  turned  back  at  his 


296  FULFILLMENT 

call,  her  eyes  hardening  under  the  soft  fervor 
of  his  regard.  "  You  will  hear  from  me  or  the 
editor,  of  course.  But,"  he  begged,  "  are  you 
quite  inaccessible  to — the  old  acquaintance  ?  " 

"  I  am — in  retirement,  Mr.  Martin."  There 
was  a  pathetic  sound  of  sad  dignity  in  the  short 
rebuff. 

"  Pardon,"  he  murmured,  and  stood  aside. 

He  kicked  a  chair  out  of  his  path  on  his  way 
back  to  his  desk.  "  I  used  to  call  it  chastity,"  he 
glowered  inaudibly.  "  Now  it's  sheer  asceti 
cism!" 

That  there  is  no  royal  road  to  any  undertak 
ing  Gwen  realized  more  unpleasantly  when,  a  few 
days  later,  she  received  the  following  note  from 
the  editorial  rooms  of  the  Evening  Messenger: 

"  MY  DEAR  MRS.  LELAND, 

"  Our  reader  pronounces  them  both  gems  of 
purest  ray, — and  forced  them  upon  the  editor, 
who,  being  a  father,  fell  instant  victim  to  their 
charms.  He  spoke  of  them  to  me  with  a  sus 
picious  moisture  about  the  lids,  but,  while  I  de 
feated  him  in  his  attempt  to  initiate  me  into  their 


STRESS  297 

tender  mysteries — which  are  not  for  the  sophisti 
cated  likes  of  me — I  prevailed  upon  him  to  allow 
me  to  announce  their  acceptance  to  you.  Will 
you  kindly  call  at  my  office  Thursday  afternoon, 
at  three,  to  arrange  about  a  proposition  for  future 
work  which  I  should  like  to  submit  to  you,  and 
about  your  signature — nom  de  plume,  anony 
mous,  or  what? 

"  Enclosed  please  find  our  check,  and  sincere 
thanks. 

"  Very  cordially  yours, 

"  LAURENCE  MARTIN." 

The  check  was  for  one  hundred  dollars. 

The  blood  rushed  in  a  flood  of  shame  over  her 
at  sight  of  the  materialistic  outcome  of  the  dream 
she  had  hugged  to  herself  in  such  tender  secrecy, 
but  she  dashed  the  tears  out  of  her  eyes  in  swift 
self-reproach.  She  could  afford  only  dreams  that 
paid,  now.  To  the  question  of  her  signature  she 
had  given  no  thought.  Gwen  Heath?  She  had 
forfeited  the  right  to  that  name.  Gwen  Leland? 
— What  if  it  should  meet  his  eyes?  She  had  no 
lien  upon  his  tolerance,  no  share  in  his  name. 


298  FULFILLMENT 

She  had  now  to  obey  Larry  Martin's  genially 
veiled  peremptoriness. 

"  Let  them  be  signed  (  G.  H.  L.,'  "  she  said  in 
conference  with  him  the  next  day.  "  I  should 
like  them  to  retain  the  hall-mark,  without  pub 
licity." 

He  sat  before  his  desk  noting  her  decision  in 
writing.  He  had  chosen  the  better  part  of  dis 
cretion  in  communicating  with  her,  however  cun 
ningly  he  had  intrigued  to  bring  her  down  again. 
They  had  a  quiet  half-hour  together  arranging 
for  a  weekly  Saturday  evening  story,  the  ar 
rangement  to  continue  indefinitely  unless  her  Hos 
pital  work  should  interfere.  In  this  connection 
she  was  forced  to  tell  him  of  her  plan  to  train 
for  a  nurse. 

He  listened,  puzzled,  shocked,  not  knowing 
what  to  say.  "  I  wish  I  were  a  child  again !  "  he 
blurted  out  finally,  with  a  comically  deprecating 
glance. 

"  But  not  a  sick  one,"  she  remonstrated  almost 
gayly,  comfortable  in  his  attitude  of  good  com 
radeship.  "  Nor  a  well  one  either,  considering 
that  you  won't  even  read  about  a  child." 


STRESS  299 

"  Will  you  do  me  a  favor?  "  he  demanded  with 
startling  irrelevancy. 

"  I  should  like  to  very  much.'* 

"  Then  submit  your  next  one  to  my  august 
consideration  by  reading  it  to  me — here." 

She  frowned.  "  But  you'd  hate  it, — you 
wouldn't  understand." 

"  Educate  my  neglected  graces." 

She  looked  past  him  with  set  jaw. 

"  Is  that  understood  ?  "  he  persisted  lightly, 
tightly  holding  the  net  of  opportunity.  "  From  a 
business,  as  well  as  an  educational  footing?" 

"  If  you  insist,"  she  said  coldly,  and  a  moment 
later  took  her  leave. 

She  thrust  the  annoyance  into  the  background 
of  consciousness,  hating  what  she  termed  to  her 
self  was  his  inveterate  flirtatiousness,  sternly  re 
solved  to  accept  the  inevitable  in  the  best  spirit 
she  could  command. 

She  succeeded  in  curbing  her  impatience  over 
Dr.  Knightley's  remissness,  with  the  reassurance 
that  the  application-blank  would  arrive  as  soon 
as  practicable.  She  had  promised  herself  to  jog 
his  memory  presently,  when,  one  afternoon,  as 


300  FULFILLMENT 

she  sat  over  pencil  and  pad  in  the  wide  silence  of 
the  house,  the  ringing  of  the  telephone  startled 
her  from  her  abstraction,  and  she  went  to  answer 
it,  still  communing  with  the  little  creatures  of 
her  imagination. 

"  Hallo." 

"Is  this  Mrs.  George  Leland's  residence?" 

"  It  is.     This  is  Mrs.  Leland." 

"  Oh.  This  is  Masterson,  Mrs.  Leland, — Mas- 
terson,  the  bookkeeper  of  Consolidated  Oil." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Masterson." 

"  I  owe  you  an  apology  for  not  'phoning  to  you 
yesterday  when  we  received  a  letter  from  Mr. 
Leland  from  Los  Angeles.  I  don't  suppose  it 
made  any  real  difference  as,  of  course,  you've 
heard,  but " 

Gwen  lost  the  rest  of  his  statement  in  a  blur 
of  sensations.  When  she  emerged  from  the  fog, 
he  was  saying,  "  Are  you  there,  Mrs.  Leland  ?  " 

'  Yes,  I'm  here.  Did  you  say  you  had  had  a 
letter  from  Mr.  Leland  yesterday  ?  " 

"  From  the  Los  Angeles  Office.  There's  noth 
ing  in  the  letter,  of  course,  to  interest  you.  I 
only  wanted  to  apologize  for  my  carelessness  in 


STRESS  301 

not  letting  you  know  at  once,  as  I  had  promised. 
No  doubt  he  cabled  you  from  Tahiti,  where  he 
left  the  yacht  to  take  the  steamer  home,  as  his 
letter  states.  I'm  awfully  sorry,  Mrs.  Leland. 
As  I  was  saying " 

"  It  doesn't  matter  in  the  least,  Mr.  Master- 
son,"  came  the  gentle  reassurance.  "  Thank  you 
very  much,"  and  her  quiet  "  Good-by  "  cut  across 
his  eager,  "  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Leland." 

Quietly  Gwen  set  about  her  preparations, 
quietly  the  day  wore  to  evening. 


Deborah's  first  thought  at  sight  of  the  small 
traveling  grip  in  the  hall  was  that  some  unex 
pected  guest  had  arrived,  but  a  glimpse  of  Gwen 
from  the  dining-room  doorway  instantly  dispelled 
that  surmise. 

"Where  are  you  going,  dressed  like  that?" 
she  exclaimed,  indicating  the  tailored  effect  of 
her  attire  as  she  stood  filling  the  glasses  with 
water. 

"  I'm  going  South — to  Los  Angeles — on  the 
twenty-to-eight  train  this  evening,  Deb/'  Gwen 


302  FULFILLMENT 

explained,  finishing  her  task  with  a  tranquil  up 
ward  glance  at  the  figure  in  the  doorway. 

"Going  to  Los  Angeles!"  Deb  echoed  in 
credulously,  coming  into  the  room.  "  What " 

"  I  have  just  heard  that  George  is  there — he 
came  back  on  the  steamer.  I  went  down  and 
bought  my  ticket  and  berth  this  afternoon.  I'll 
leave  the  house  a  little  after  seven.  As  I'm  all 
dressed  to  go,  will  you  help  Suzuki,  please, 
Deb?" 

Deborah  strode  over  to  the  table,  hastily  draw 
ing  off  her  gloves.  "  But  of  course  I'm  going 
with  you,  Gwen,"  she  murmured  breathlessly. 

"  Deb  dear,"  smiled  Gwen  quietly,  "  don't  you 
think  I've  reached  woman's  stature  yet?" 

Deb  silently  received  the  gentle  proclamation 
of  emancipation.  "  At  least,"  she  ventured  dif 
fidently,  "  you  will  let  me  go  down  with  you  to 
the  depot." 

"  But  why  ?  "  came  the  firm  resistance. 

Then  and  there,  in  the  simplicity  of  under 
standing,  Deborah  abdicated,  without  a  word  of 
protestation. 


CHAPTER  III 
ABOVE  LIFE'S  TRAFFIC 

SHE  had  merely  said,  "  I  should  like  to  speak 
to  Mr.  Leland,"  and  before  she  could  give  her 
name,  the  boy,  inviting  her  to  be  seated,  had  left 
her. 

Gwen  sat  in  the  broad  light  of  the  large,  bare, 
outer  office,  partly  turned  from  the  traffic  of  the 
feet  of  men  coming  and  going.  If  they  glanced 
in  curiosity  toward  the  figure  of  the  woman  with 
the  averted  face,  she  was  unaware  of  it,  holding 
herself  in  a  relentless  calm,  all  her  senses  focused 
upon  the  awaited  sound  of  a  footfall  which  she 
knew  she  would  instantly  distinguish. 

But  he  did  not  come.  Men  passed  to  and  fro, 
generally  singly,  with  brisk,  hurried  footsteps, 
again  in  pairs,  talking  absorbedly,  but  moving  at 
a  more  leisurely  pace.  The  two  heavy  doors 
down  the  farther  side  of  the  room  giving  upon  the 
corridor,  opened  and  shut  at  their  touch  with  busi- 
303 


304  FULFILLMENT 

ness-like  promptness  and  surety,  agreeing  to  the 
law  of  time  and  place.  Everything  here  be 
longed. 

Gwen  alone,  far  back  in  her  corner,  was  the 
one  note  of  disharmony.  And  even  as  the  men, 
glancing  in  her  direction,  felt  her  so,  she,  too, 
knew  it,  but  she  severely  shut  to  the  door  on  her 
intuitive  distaste  of  the  situation,  and  sat  doggedly 
on.  She,  also,  had  "  business  of  importance  "  to 
transact — business  of  more  significance  to  her 
than  life  or  death,  though  it  bore  no  relation  to 
the  ebb  and  flow  of  material  affairs  about  her. 

Patiently,  unquestioningly,  she  sat  through 
a  half -hour, — she  knew  he  would  come  when  he 
could, — but  the  time  seemed  infinitely  long.  She 
reflected  that  he  did  not  know  who  was  waiting 
for  him — or,  perhaps,  he  did, — perhaps  he  had 
glanced  out,  recognized  her,  and  was  debating 
whether  to  receive  her  or  not.  At  this  thought 
the  dryness  in  her  throat  threatened  to  strangle 
her,  but  she  only  pressed  her  lips  more  firmly  to 
gether  and  continued  to  gaze  at  the  two  glass 
upper  panels  of  the  doors  at  the  farthest  end  of 
the  room,  marked  "  Private,"  directly  facing  her. 


ABOVE  LIFE'S  TRAFFIC  305 

One  of  these  doors,  the  one  to  the  left,  opened 
and  shut  intermittently  to  admit  of  sharp  ingress 
or  egress,  which  is  just  what  an  office-door  should 
do,  but  the  one  to  the  right  remained  persistently 
closed,  like  a  deserted  or  sealed  port.  Gwen's 
tired  eyes  rested  unseeingly  upon  this  undisturbing 
haven.  She  was  waiting  for  the  footfall. 

Suddenly  her  eyelids  flickered,  something  had 
crossed  her  line  of  vision.  Someone,  a  hatless, 
dark-haired  young  woman  this  time,  with  writ 
ing  pad  in  her  hand,  issued  from  the  friendly 
portal,  walked  ,  toward  the  other,  and  swiftly 
opened  and  as  swiftly  closed  it  upon  herself.  The 
next  moment  a  man  came  forth  from  the  same 
enclosure  and  walked  hurriedly  away. 

But  he  had  left  the  door  ajar. 

A  minute  later  someone  from  within  advanced 
to  close  it.  In  that  fleeting  second  something  like 
a  ball  of  fire  leaped  from  Gwen's  throat  to  her 
eyes  and  seemed  to  blind  her  very  reason : 

She  did  not  want  him  in  that  room  with  that 
dark-haired  girl. 

But  almost  immediately  she  became  still,  with 
a  portentous  stillness.  She  knew  that  he  had 


'306  FULFILLMENT 

sensed  her  as  she  had  sensed  him,  that  presently 
the  door  would  open  again  and  he  would  come 
out. 

And  he  did,  even  while  she  was  thinking  it. 

He  came  straight  toward  her,  tall  and  spare, 
with  stern  face,  seamed  and  beaten  by  forces 
stronger  than  tropic  weather. 

She  saw  it  all  as  she  arose,  meeting  his  uncom 
promising  eyes  with  level  gaze. 

"  I  didn't  know  it  was  you,"  he  explained,  dis 
tantly  courteous.  "  The  boy  only  said  *  A 
lady/  " 

"Yes.  May  I  speak  to  you  alone,  please?" 
Her  voice  was  a  mere  thread  of  silvery  sound, 
she  was  white  to  the  lips. 

He  stood  a  moment  considering,  then  turned 
sharply  to  a  door  just  beside  her  which  she  had 
not  noticed,  opened  it,  and  stood  aside  for  her  to 
enter. 

Beyond  a  short  passage-way,  she  found  herself 
in  a  small,  ill-lighted  room  containing  a  desk 
and  two  chairs.  As  he  closed  the  door  and  turned 
toward  her  where  she  stood  against  the  wall,  she 
felt  herself  completely  isolated  with  an  opponent 


ABOVE  LIFE'S  TRAFFIC  307 

in  what  was  to  be  a  mortal  combat.  From  far 
below  in  the  street  rose  the  muffled  roar  of  dis 
tant  traffic. 

He  stood  with  his  hands  thrust  in  the  pockets 
of  his  coat,  his  head  stiffly  raised  in  waiting  atti 
tude.  There  was  no  pretense  at  conciliation,  he 
did  not  ask  her  to  sit  down. 

"  I  will  only  keep  you  a  few  minutes/'  she  be 
gan  in  the  same  low,  even  tone  which  was  all  she 
could  command.  "  I  wanted  to  tell  you — as  soon 
as  I  heard  you  were  back — that,"  a  scarcely  per 
ceptible  pause  revealed  the  effort  she  was  making, 
— "  that  what  you  said — that  day  in  the  woods — 
was  not  true." 

He  continued  to  regard  her  with  immobile 
countenance,  uttering  no  sound. 

"  That  I  know  that  you  know — it  was  not 
true." 

She  looked  out  at  him  as  from  a  distance,  wan 
and  white,  with  proud,  close-pressed  lips,  the  pure 
waxen  oval  of  her  face  framed  in  the  shadow 
of  her  small,  close-fitting  black  velvet  hat.  She 
waited,  moveless,  for  him  to  speak. 

It  took  him  a  long  time.     When  speech  came 


308  FULFILLMENT 

his  voice  was  dry,  and  harsh,  and  slow.  "  Why 
should  I  know  it  was — not  true?" 

"  Because,"  came  the  proud,  pained  answer,  her 
eyes  never  wavering  in  their  hold  of  his,  "  you 
knew  that  I  was  I." 

A  short,  mirthless  sound,  meant  to  be  a  laugh, 
escaped  him,  but  his  eyes,  too,  held  to  hers,  som 
ber,  ironic. 

"  I  don't — know — you,"  he  said  mercilessly. 

She  waited,  unflinching,  for  the  axe  to  cleave. 

"  I  found  you,"  he  went  on  ruthlessly,  each 
word  decisive,  distinct  as  a  blow,  "  you — my 
legal  wife,  at  least, — in  the  arms  of  another — a 
stranger  to  me.  I  heard  words  that  would  have 
been  revelation  enough  to  the  lowest  intelligence 
without  the  experience  which  had  been  mine — 
words  which,  when  you  discovered  me  standing 
there,  brought  the  most  incriminating  of  horrors 
to  your  face — the  horror  of  being  found  out." 

She  closed  her  eyes  for  a  second,  the  lowered, 
waxen  lids  with  their  upward  curling  lashes  giv 
ing  to  her  face  a  momentary  aspect  of  death. 
When  she  opened  them  again  she  had  found  the 
strength  to  speak. 


ABOVE  LIFE'S  TRAFFIC  309 

"  I  heard  no  words,"  she  said.  "  I  only  saw 
your  face." 

He  gave  again  the  short,  mirthless  sound 
meant  to  be  a  laugh,  a  laugh  of  ugly  incre 
dulity. 

"  What  were  the  words  ?  "  she  asked. 

His  eyes  drove  into  her  steady  gaze.  '  You 
want  me  to  repeat  them?  "  he  challenged  roughly. 

Her  undaunted  attention  spoke  affirmation. 

"  Well,"  he  said  incisively,  and  his  hands  came 
out  from  his  pockets  and  caught  at  his  coat 
lapels,  "  he  merely  said — and  I  don't  know  in 
answer  to  what  " — he  gave  a  clicking  sound  with 
his  tongue  as  though  the  words  were  weighting  it 
— "  he  said,  '  You  were  mine  before  you  were 
his — you  can  never  belong  to  him  as  you  have 
belonged  to  me.'— That  was  all."  He  let  the 
blade  sink  deep.  Then,  fiercely,  coming  a  frac 
tion  nearer,  "  You  never  belonged  to  me,"  he  ac 
cused. 

Again  the  waxen  lids  fell,  this  time  for  a 
longer  space,  but  he  paid  no  heed  to  the  appeal 
of  her  appearance. 

"  You,"  he  drove  on  without  pity,  "  you  mar- 


310  FULFILLMENT 

ried  me  for  only  one  thing — as  I  knew  well 
enough  in  my  infatuation — you  married  me  to 
escape  poverty.  You  tried  to  be  game  at  first, 
but  it  wouldn't  work.  It  petered  out  in  a  few 
weeks.  I  wasn't  worth  the  candle.  Do  you  sup 
pose  I  didn't  know  all  along?  Well,  I  shut  my 
eyes,  I  pretended  to  myself  it  was  going  to  be 
all  right — until  you  faced  about — over  there  in 
Chartres — and  let  me  see  that  the  game  was  up — 
that  you  were  in  hell.  Well,  if  you  were  in  hell, 
where  do  you  think  I  was  ? — And  that  day  of  our 
return — after  your  sister  Deborah  had  endeavored 
to  explain  it  all — physiologically — and  I,  like  a 

fool,  took  it  all  in  and  was  ready  to "     He 

turned  from  her,  walking  over  to  the  desk,  and 
leaned  on  it  with  bowed  head,  and  back  turned 
to  her.  Only  the  muffled  hum  of  the  distant  traffic 
filled  the  deathly  silence  of  the  little  room,  be 
fore,  without  turning,  he  spoke  again.  "  You 
know  what  you  said  to  me  there — in  that  room — 

about    ridding Pah!      The    word    won't 

come You  know  that  you  turned  the  world 

upside  down  for  me  then.  Aw — what's  the  good 
of  thinking  of  that !  "  He  veered  about  to  find 


ABOVE  LIFE'S  TRAFFIC  311 

her  shrunk  against  the  wall,  her  face  wild  with 
appealing  anguish,  but  he  paid  no  heed,  bound  to 
make  an  end  of  it.  "  What  else  could  I  think 
after  all  that — what  else  could  I  think  when  I 
saw  you  there  in  that  man's  arms,  with  his  words 
ringing  in  my  brain — but  that  you  had  consented 
— no,  maneuvered,  for  a  hasty  marriage  be 
cause " 

"  George !  "  Her  hoarse  cry,  springing  from 
the  roots  of  her  tortured  being,  smote  him  into 
silence.  "  No,  no,"  she  moaned,  "  you  couldn't — 
you  didn't  think  that." 

"  I  could  and  I  did,"  he  returned  brutally. 
"  What  else  could  the  whole  thing  mean  to  me — 
you  there,  his  words  enlightening  all  the  past  for 
me?  I  didn't  dream  what  I  saw  and  heard, 
did  I?" 

"  No,"  she  said  dully,  "  no,  you  didn't  dream 
it.  He — Austin  Dane — and  I — had  loved  each 
other — before  I  married  you.  But,  for  me,  that 
was  long  since  dead — and  buried.  I  had  lost  ac 
count  of  him.  He  found  me  there — waiting  for 
you.  I  told  him  to  go.  At  that  moment,  when 
you  came  upon  us,  he — had  seized  me — before  I 


3i2  FULFILLMENT 

knew  his  intention.  He  was  too  strong  for  me — 
the  sudden  sight  of  your  terrible  face — paralyzed 
me.  I  couldn't  even  cry  out.  I  had  no  conscious 
ness  of  what  he  was  saying  or  that  he  was  say 
ing  anything.  Now — that  you  repeat  it  to  me — 
I  see  what  it  meant  to  you,  though  the  words 
were  purely  figurative."  She  paused  as  if  fin 
ished,  looking  beyond  him,  then,  very  quietly, 
looking  again  straight  into  his  bloodshot 
eyes,  she  added,  "  You  believe  me,  don't  you, 
George?" 

He  returned  her  gaze  in  dumb  misery. 

'  You  know,"  she  wrent  on,  a  veil  of  stillness 
falling  upon  her  voice,  her  face,  her  whole  pres 
ence,  making  her,  seemingly,  remote,  intangible 
as  if  separated  from  him  by  a  mist,  "  you  know 
that  nothing — nothing  of  that  nature — could 
ever  have  touched  Gwen  Heath,  don't  you, 
George?" 

She  looked  toward  him,  a  dim  vision  of  pale 
purity,  bodily  removed,  all  spirit.  And  he  saw 
her  as  she  was  in  truth,  and  a  violent  trembling 
shook  him  as,  for  one  moment,  the  Invisible  was 
made  visible  and  her  spirit  spoke  to  his. 


ABOVE  LIFE'S  TRAFFIC  313 

"  You  believe  that,  don't  you,  George  ?  "  the 
low,  singing  voice  affirmed. 

He  bent  his  head  in  speechless  confession  of 
faith. 

"  You  know  that  Beth  was  your  child,  don't 
you,  George?  " 

He  mumbled  something  incoherent. 

She  moved  then  as  if  to  go. 

He  stayed  her  with  a  motion  of  his  hand,  clear 
ing  his  throat  with  difficulty.  "  She — the  baby — 
how  is  she?  " 

For  a  few  seconds  no  sound  came,  then,  "  Beth 
is  dead,  George,"  she  said  very  low. 

He  regarded  her  in  imploring  bewilderment. 

"  More  than  six  weeks  now.  It  was — diph 
theria." 

He  shook  his  head  in  stupefied  denial.  "  No, 
no,"  he  protested,  and  the  tears  rained  over  his 

face  as  his  hands  went  out  to  her.  "  You " 

he  muttered,  "  you "  He  flung  himself  away 

from  her  into  the  chair  by  the  desk  and  bowed 
his  head  within  his  arms. 

Something  touched  his  head  lightly,  but  when, 
a  moment  later,  he  found  his  control  and,  lifting 


3H  FULFILLMENT 

his  head,  turned  toward  her,  her  name  upon  his 
lips,  he  saw  he  was  alone. 


In  the  soft  gloom  of  evening  Gwen  flitted 
through  the  crowd  at  the  River  Street  Station, 
and  moved  toward  the  waiting  train. 

A  man  detached  himself  from  the  others  and 
came  striding  toward  her,  abruptly  arresting  her. 
He  thrust  flowers  into  her  hand  and  the  fragrance 
of  violets  stole  up  to  her  as,  with  raised  hat,  he 
possessed  himself  of  her  small  grip.  They  moved 
together  toward  the  train. 

"  I've  been  searching  the  town  for  you/'  he 
said  unsteadily.  "  The  hotels,  the  boarding 
houses,  the " 

"  I  hadn't  given  my  own  name,"  she  explained 
quickly,  her  face  still  touched  with  the  after 
glow  of  the  startled  flood  of  color  his  unexpected 
appearance  had  enkindled. 

They  were  within  two  feet  of  the  train. 

"  I  came  down  to  meet  the  Owl,"  he  went  on 
in  headlong  fashion,  "  but  you  weren't  there." 

She  glanced  up  at  him  and  away.    They  had 


ABOVE  LIFE'S  TRAFFIC  315 

come  to  a  standstill  before  the  car,  her  foot  was 
upon  the  step. 

"  Gwen,  oh,  Gwen !  "  broke  from  him  irrepress- 
ibly,  all  his  grief,  all  his  pity,  all  his  yearning  in 
the  strangled  cry. 

Her  eyes  flew  up  to  his.  "  We "  She 

smiled  bravely  through  a  mist  of  tears,  but  the 
guard  at  her  side  held  out  his  warning  hand  and 
as,  with  bent  head,  she  stepped  aboard,  the  whistle 
blew  its  shrill,  long  farewell. 

The  little  grip  was  passed  up  to  her. 

The  scheduled  leviathan  moved  slowly  on 
ward  with  beautifully  increasing  swiftness,  leav 
ing  behind  it  a  faint  trail  of  smoke  in  the  upper 
air. 

Leland,  absently  replacing  his  hat,  turned  town- 
ward  with  unseeing  eyes. 


CHAPTER  IV 
LETTERS 

GEORGE  LELAND  TO  GWEN  LELAND 

Hotel  Alexandria,  Los  Angeles. 

Saturday  night. 
DEAR  GWEN, 

It  is  twelve  o'clock — four  hours  since  you  left 
— and  I  haven't  found  the  words  yet  that  I 
wanted  to  say  to  you.  What  can  we  do  about 
it,  Gwen?  What  can  anyone  ever  do  about  it? 

Don't  cry,  Gwen.  You've  cried  so  much 

Can't  I  help  ?  Would  it  help  to  talk  about  it  to 
me?  I'd  understand — everything.  But  don't  cry 
any  more,  please !  It's  washed  all  the  color  from 
your  face,  and  from  your  heart,  too,  I'm  afraid. 
It  only  takes  your  strength.  Just  be  quiet  now, 
and  wait,  and  the  sweetness  of  so  many  things 
you  love  will  come  flowing  back  to  you.  You 
can  be  brave,  I  know. 

You  were  very  brave  and  wonderful  with  me 
316 


LETTERS  317 

today,  Gwen.  One  thing  I  want  you  to  remember 
— and  that  is  what  I  wanted  to  say  to  you — that  I 
am  here  now — that,  no  matter  what  the  time  and 
distance  between  us,  you  can  never  be  alone  in 

this  grief  again.     Forgive  me. 

GEORGE. 

GEORGE  LELAND  TO  DEBORAH  HEATH 

Hotel  Alexandria,  Los  Angeles. 

Saturday  night. 
MY  DEAR  DEBORAH, 

I  have  just  finished  writing  to  Gwen.  I'm 
afraid  it's  a  poor  attempt  at  trying  to  tell  her  how 
I  am  suffering  for  her.  I  can  never  forgive  my 
self  for  cutting  myself  off  as  I  did,  and  I  know 
you  never  will,  although  I  approach  you  with  the 
threadbare  plea  of  madness.  Madness,  or  what 
ever  name  I  choose  to  call  it,  I  was  no  lunatic, 
and  a  sane  man  can't  cut  himself  loose  from  his 
responsibilities.  I  know  that,  as  you  know  it,  as 
the  unpardonable  sin, — so  let  it  alone  for  a  mo 
ment,  please. 

I  am  much  worried  about  her — her  appear 
ance,  I  mean.  Has  she  been  ill,  too,  or  is  it  only 


318  FULFILLMENT 

sorrow  that  has  given  her  that  uncanny,  spiritual 
look?  I  don't  want  to  frighten  you,  Deb, — no 
doubt  you  have  noticed  it — but  I  am  frightened. 
Has  she  seen  a  doctor!  There's  Newton,  the 
specialist, — they  say  he's  a  genius  at  diagnosing 
nervous  troubles.  For  God's  sake,  don't  let  her 
go  into  a  decline,  Deb. 

Another  thing — has  she  everything?  I  mean 
everything  money  can  buy?  You  wouldn't  let 
her  deny  herself  any  comfort  or  luxury  through 
some  hypersensitive  notion  of  not  using  her  check 
book  because — the  money  comes  from  me  ?  The 
mere  suggestion  drives  me  frantic,  but  I  know 
what  an  extremist  she  is  and  I  don't  know  how 
far  her  imagination  might  lead  her  from  solid 
practicality.  I  don't  believe  you  would  let  her 
do  anything  so  nonsensical,  but  there  was  some 
thing-— it  only  harked  back  to  me  after  she  had 
left — something  about  her  dress,  something  a  man 
can't  explain,  that  made  me  think  of  restrictions, 
economy,  frugality.  It  wasn't  that  she  was 
shabby,  but  she  wasn't  smart,  and  Gwen  never  let 
herself  look  like  that  before.  I  hope  I  am  wrong 
in  my  hateful  thought  about  the  money — but  at 


LETTERS  319 

any   rate   I    can   communicate    with   the    bank. 

How  would  a  sea-trip  strike  you — just  you  and 
Gwen  together — say  to  Japan  or  Honolulu? 
She's  never  been,  and  I  think  it  would  do  her  a 
world  of  good — those  long,  peaceful  days  on  the 
water — besides  diverting  her  thoughts.  Will  you 
think  of  it,  Deb,  and  speak  to  her  about  it  with 
out  delay — and  let  me  know  as  soon  as  possible? 

For  everything  you  are,  and  everything  you 
have  always  been  and  will  be  to  her,  I  can  only 
bow  my  heart  and  soul  in  thankfulness  to  you. 
Yours  faithfully, 

GEORGE  LELAND. 

GWEN  LELAND  TO  GEORGE  LELAND 

The  Heights,  San  Francisco. 

Sunday  evening. 
DEAR  GEORGE, 

I  forgot  to  thank  you  for  the  violets,  and  I 
don't  want  the  day  to  pass  without  doing  it.  As 
it  is,  this  won't  reach  you  till  Tuesday  when  they 
will  be  quite  dead,  though  they  still  send  a  breath 
of  fragrance  up  to  me.  You  know  I  have  a  cer 
tain  sentiment  and  knack  about  keeping  flowers 


320  FULFILLMENT 

alive  as  long  as  possible.  They  are  unusually 
sweet  violets, — all  through  the  night  on  the  train 
— I  didn't  sleep  very  much — their  sweetness  was 
like  a  presence. 

There  is  something  else  I  forgot  to  say  to  you, 
something  I  had  fully  intended  saying,  but  I  was 
too  overwrought.  It  is  this :  naturally,  you  will 
want  to  be  divorced  from  me.  I  realized  at  the 
time,  from  every  view-point,  that  you  were  only 
waiting  until  Beth  came,  and  afterward  you  only 
hesitated  through  chivalry,  but  now  there  is  noth 
ing  to  hold  you.  You  will  let  me  know  before 
you  begin  proceedings,  won't  you? 

You  were  more  than  generous  to  me  yester 
day — so  unquestioningly  generous  in  the  end. 
Ever  since,  I  have  felt  at  peace.  It  is  a  strange 
thing  to  feel  that  someone  else  is  at  one  with  you, 
wholly  and  utterly  one,  in  a  grief  beyond  the  reach 
of  words  or  time  or  forgetfulness — very  strange, 
and  very  sweet.  After  that  we  can  never  hold 
any  bitterness  against  each  other,  can  we, 
George  ? 

Good-night,  dear. 

GWEN. 


LETTERS  321 

DEBORAH  HEATH  TO  GEORGE  LELAND 

The  Heights,  San  Francisco. 

Monday. 
MY  DEAR  GEORGE, 

I  have  just  received  your  letter.  I  think  you 
exaggerate,  my  dear.  Gwen  doesn't  look  half  so 
bad  as  you,  coming  suddenly  upon  her  as  you  did, 
and  noting  the  great  change,  would  be  led  to  be 
lieve.  Yes,  she  was  ill,  but  not  for  long.  She 
took  it  from  the  baby,  you  know, — she  never 
left  her  for  a  moment.  And  her  grief  was  and 
is — unspeakable.  We  cannot  expect  otherwise 
from  Gwen — she  has  the  intensity  of  all  her 
qualities.  But  every  day,  especially  for  the  past 
two  weeks  or  so,  by  her  own  brave  efforts,  she 
has  made  gallant  strides  toward  self-recovery 
and,  by  comparison,  is  almost  herself  again, 
though  a  changed  self.  If  one  lives  long  enough, 
and  deeply  enough,  one  knows  many  selves.  You 
must  not  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  Saturday  was 
a  terrible  ordeal  for  her,  wrought  up  as  she  was 
to  the  highest  pitch  of  controlled  emotion.  Know 
ing  Gwen  as  I  do,  I  know  she  was  controlled. 


322  FULFILLMENT 

But  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  have  noticed,  ever 
since  the  first  moment  of  her  return  from  seeing 
you,  that  she  seems  to  have  found  something 
which  I  could  not  give  her,  something  for  which 
she  was  pining  and  which  is  now  wholly  hers. 
Her  eyes  have  lost  their  strained  yearning,  she  has 
relaxed  her  stern  grip  on  circumstance,  and  twice 
I  have  surprised  a  real  little  smile  playing  about 
the  corners  of  her  mouth.  She  needs  neither  a 
doctor  nor  a  sea-trip. 

I  regret  to  say  that  your  surmise  about  the 
money  is  correct.  Ever  since  the  baby  went — I 
mean  as  soon  as  she  began  to  take  up  the  problem 
of  life  again — she  has  refused  to  accept  any  main 
tenance  from  you.  Though  I  know  it  is  legally 
due  her,  morally  she  has  not  the  shadow  of  a 
claim  to  it.  Judged  from  that  light  you  will 
readily  understand  that  I  must,  in  honor,  uphold 
her.  But  we  are  quite  comfortable  in  our  simple 
way,  and  just  the  other  day — though  there  was 
no  necessity — Gwen  found  material  independence 
by  selling  some  children's  stories  to  the  Evening 
Messenger,  with  arrangements  for  more. 

I  have  tried  to  answer  all  your  questions  clearly 


LETTERS  323 

and  without  bias.  Whatever  else  you  want  to 
ask,  remember  I  am  your  friend  as  well  as  hers 
and  I  will  always  answer  in  that  spirit.  And 
whatever  I  can  do  for  you,  regard  me  as  stand 
ing  here  with  both  hands  ready. 

Always  sincerely  yours, 

DEBORAH  HEATH. 

GWEN  LELAND  TO  GEORGE  LELAND 

The  Heights,  San  Francisco. 

Monday  night. 
DEAR  GEORGE, 

Your  letter  came — it  will  always  be  a  pecu 
liar  treasure  to  me.  No,  I  won't  cry  any  more, — 
instead,  I  will  read  your  letter 

I  have  just  read  it  again If  ever  I  could 

talk  about — it,  it  would  be  to  you.  But  I  can 
never  talk  about  it 

George,  do  you  remember  that  day  when  you 
carried  her  down  into  the  garden  ?  Was  she  dear, 
was  she  sweet? — Did  you  notice  her  eyes — two 
soft  brown  velvet  pansies  ?  I  told  Deb  the  other 
night  how  surprisingly  like  yours  they  were — I 
had  never  noticed  it  before.  Those  things  are 


324  FULFILLMENT 

so  wonderful,  aren't  they?  That  day,  when  you 
came  up  with  her  in  your  arms,  I  noticed  how 
you  held  her — close  against  you,  in  the  hollow  of 
your  arm.  Did  the  feel  of  her  little  warm  body, 
her  utter  confidence  in  you,  make  you  feel — good  ? 
Did  you  feel  the  push  of  unknown  powers  rising 
within  you,  did  you  feel  that  you  could  perform 
heroisms,  conquer  anything — because  of  her?  I 
did 

Some  day  when  you  come  to  town,  you  will 
want  to  go  there.  She  is  lying  at  my  father's 
feet,  in  Cypress  Lawn.  Perhaps  you  will  see  me 
there — I  go  very  often,  but  not  every  day  now — 
because  Deb  objects  so. 

She,  Deb,  told  me  today  what  you  wrote  about 
money  and  a  trip.  Thank  you  very  much  for  the 
kind  thought  fulness,  but  I  don't  need  a  trip — I 
am  very  well — and  you  should  see  how  my  appe 
tite  is  coming  back !  As  t6  the  money,  of  course 
I  can't  take  that. 

Always  yours  for  friendship, 

GWEN. 


LETTERS  325 

GEORGE  LELAND  TO  GWEN  LELAND 

Hotel  Alexandria,  Los  Angeles. 

Tuesday. 
DEAR  GWEN, 

I  have  never  thought  of  getting  a  divorce  from 
you,  and  I  never  will !  I  have  just  finished  read 
ing  your  letter.  How  could  you  write  that  ter 
rible  thing  in  the  midst  of  your  transcendent  for 
giveness?  Why  should  I  wish  to  be  divorced 
from  you  ?  What  advantage  would  it  be  to  me  ? 
Do  you  think  I  could  ever  think  of  marrying  an 
other  woman?  You  ought  to  know  better  than 
that.  Being  married  to  you — though  I  should 
never  see  you  again — is  the  only  thing  thinkable 
to  me.  Nothing — no  one — could  ever  really 
"  divorce  "  me  from  you !  I  was  one  of  the  high 
contracting  parties  in  that  transaction  which 
plunged  you  into  so  much  misery — and  I  never 
willingly  break  a  contract.  Surely  not  the  one 
under  discussion. 

Unless — perhaps — was  that  your  tentative  way 
of  breaking  the  news  to  me  that  you  want  a  di 
vorce  ?  Of  course,  that's  it !  Selfish  ass  that  I  am, 


326  FULFILLMENT 

I  began  this  letter  without  stopping  to  think.  Of 
course — I  see  now.  Naturally — that  would  be 
your  first  thought,  everything  considered  now. 
Of  course.  Go  straight  ahead.  No  opposition 
from  me.  Sorry  to  have  made  such  a  blatant 
idiot  of  myself  in  the  first  few  lines  of  this — 
thinking  only  of  my  own  interests.  Well,  there 
I  am! 

Any  further  communication  on  the  subject  may 
be  addressed  to  Archibald  Ford  of  the  law-firm 
of  Fork,  Peckham,  and  Ford.  Anything  you  say, 
goes. 

GEORGE  LELAND. 

GWEN  LELAND  TO  GEORGE  LELAND 

The  Heights, 

Thursday  night. 
DEAR  GEORGE, 

Your  letter  has  upset  me  terribly.  Never  ac 
cuse  me  again  of  such  an  underhanded  procedure. 
I  shall  never  ask  you  for  a  divorce  because,  speak 
ing  from  my  own  personality,  I  can  never  believe 
in  divorce.  Separation,  surely, — in  extreme 
cases, — but,  to  a  woman  of  my  sort,  there  could 


LETTERS  327 

never  be  "  two  husbands  "  in  my  life.  So  what 
would  it  profit  me  ?  I  was  thinking  only  of  your 
future.  Referring  to  our  hurried  marriage,  I,  too, 
was  "  one  of  the  high  contracting  parties,"  but  I 
gave  no  thought — then — to  my  high  responsibili 
ties.  When  you  speak  of  transcendent  forgive 
ness,  what  have  you  not  to  forgive  me? 

As  I  have  told  you,  speaking  personally,  I  do 
not  believe  in  the  efficacy  of  divorce,  because — 
now — I  understand  what  is  meant  by  the  con 
secration  of  marriage.  In  the  face  of  all  your 
memories  of  me,  I  dare  ask  you  to  believe  that 

of  me. 

GWEN. 

GEORGE  LELAND  TO  GWEN  LELAND 

Hotel  Alexandria, 

Saturday. 
DEAR  GWEN, 

Forgive  my  impetuous  conclusion.  When  the 
devil  gets  roused  in  a  man  it  takes  something 
stronger  than  the  devil  to  kill  his  suspicions.  I 
understand  now  that  it  was  pure  selflessness  that 
prompted  your  suggestion.  So — since  we  are 


328  FULFILLMENT 

both  of  that  mind — let's  drop  the  hateful  sub 
ject  now  and  forever,  or  at  least  as  long  as  you 
stay  of  that  mind. 

I  am  glad  you  are  better.  When  I  come  to 
town  I  shall  have  to  communicate  with  you  in 
person  about  that  money  question.  Your  ar 
rangement  is  one  no  man  could  tolerate  unless, 
behind  it,  lay  a  knowledge  of  guilt  or  of  unfor- 
givingness.  Perhaps  there  is  that — perhaps  I 
said  something  unpardonable  to  you  in  the  office 
that  day.  I  don't  know  what  I  said.  I  only  re 
member  what  you  said.  If  there  was  anything 
then,  or  at  any  other  time,  anything  said  or  done 
that  has  brought  you  to  this  decision,  will  you  tell 
me?  I  might  be  able  to  explain. 
Faithfully  yours, 

GEORGE  LELAND. 

GEORGE  LELAND  TO  DEBORAH  HEATH 

Hotel  Alexandria,  Los  Angeles. 

Saturday. 
MY  DEAR  DEBORAH, 

Do  you  think,  if  I  came  to  town,  that  Gwen 
would  object  to  seeing  me?    I  mean  for  a  few 


LETTERS  329 

minutes'  talk.    An  early  answer  would  help  me 
very  much. 

GEORGE. 

GWEN  LELAND  TO  GEORGE  LELAND 

The  Heights, 

Monday  evening. 
DEAR  GEORGE, 

You  have  never  said  anything  or  done  anything 
to  me  that  needs  pardoning.  It  is  only  that  you 
owe  me  nothing.  You  would  not  have  me,  an 
able-bodied  young  woman,  become  a  pensioner, 
would  you?  Let  us  drop  that  question,  too, 
please.  It  is  of  so  little  consequence. 
Are  you  coming  to  the  city  soon? 

GWEN. 

DEBORAH  HEATH  TO  GEORGE  LELAND 

The  Heights, 

Monday. 
MY  DEAR  GEORGE, 

Wait  a  minute. 

DEB. 


CHAPTER  V 
DEBORAH'S  STORY 

SHE  had  indeed  remarked,  as  if  out  of  a  clear 
sky,  on  the  night  of  her  return,  "  George's  eyes 
are  just  like  baby's,  aren't  they?"  and  then 
had  hurriedly  covered  the  inadvertence  with 
a  quite  inconsequential  tale  about  Jean — and 
voting ! 

And  now  again,  four  nights  later,  as  they  sat 
together  sewing  for  "  Deb's  children,"  the  lamp 
raying  between  them,  she  broke  a  long  silence  by 
saying  quietly,  without  looking  up  from  her 
work,  "  Did  you  ever  notice  that  Beth's  eyes 
were  just  like  George's  ? "  as  though  the  com 
ment  were  quite  new. 

And  Deb,  also  quietly,  without  looking  up  from 
her  work,  had  answered,  as  before,  "  Yes,  I 
knew  it." 

"  But  you  never  said  anything  about  it." 

"  It  was  so  obvious." 
330 


DEBORAH'S  STORY  331 

"  I  mean — not  only  the  color — the  setting,  the 
shape,  the  brows." 

"  Yes." 

"  And  the  expression.  That's  queer — the  ex 
pression.  When  she  used  to  look  straight  at  me 
— straight  through  me — with  such  strange,  pene 
trating  questioning,  I  used  to  wonder  about  it  so. 
Queer,  isn't  it?"  She  laughed,  a  short,  con 
fused  sound. 

"  Not  so  very  queer."  Deb  smiled,  creasing 
a  hem. 

The  silence  lay  between  them  again,  intimate  as 
speech. 

After  a  while,  the  short,  confused  laugh  was 
repeated,  like  a  belated  echo.  Deb,  glancing  up, 
saw  the  head  turned  quickly  aside,  saw  the  rosy 
tide  sweep  up  over  the  averted  cheek.  A  light 
shot  into  Deb's  face.  Followed  a  smile,  in 
scrutable,  brief.  She  said  nothing. 

A  sigh,  patient,  impatient,  escaped  and  died 
upon  the  silence. 

Deb  said  nothing. 

Gwen  pushed  her  work  from  her,  her  hands 
catching  at  the  chair  arms.  She  looked  out  be- 


332  FULFILLMENT 

fore  her,  speaking  slowly,  with  difficulty,  but  as  if 
by  impulsion,  "  I  can't  sew.  They  get  between 
me  and  my  work — her  eyes,  I  mean.  To  kiss 
them — once!  It's  like  a  mania."  Her  teeth 
seemed  set. 

Deb's  eyes  clung  to  her  sewing.  She  said 
nothing. 

After  a  little  she  felt,  rather  than  saw,  the  girl 
spring  up.  She  heard  her  poke  the  fire.  She 
knew  she  was  not  crying.  From  under  lowered 
lids  she  saw  her  standing  there,  her  arms  droop 
ing,  her  foot  tapping  the  floor. 

Suddenly  she  felt  two  soft  arms  tightening 
about  her  neck.  Gwen  was  kissing  her. 

"  Good-night,"  she  said,  and  released  her  as 
abruptly  as  she  had  caught  her.  "I'm  going 
to  bed.  I  can't  sit  here.  Perhaps  I'll  write.  Or 
potter  about  in  my  room.  Good-night." 

She  was  gone.  Deb  heard  her  door  close  in 
the  distance. 

To  Deb  it  was  merely  a  climax. 

She  sat  with  idle  needle,  spinning  more  tenuous 
threads  : 

She — Gwen — had  not  been  crying. 


DEBORAH'S  STORY  333 

"Her  eyes" 

A  contemplative  smile  drew  in  the  corners  of 
Deb's  mouth,  got  caught  in  the  corners  of  her 
eyes,  forming  tiny,  experienced  lines  there.  She 
looked  wise  as  age,  still  as  mystery,  sitting 
there. 

Deb  a-dream — yet  purposeful. 

Again  she  saw  the  solitary,  slight  figure  in 
black  coming  in  at  the  front  door  as  she  had  that 
Sunday  morning  after  her  unexplained  visit 
South,  and  she,  Deb,  with  an  inexplicable  rush  of 
disappointed  love,  running  out  to  her  with  wide 
spread,  protective  arms,  and  then  stopping  her 
onslaught  in  astonishment  of  the  light  upon  the 
other's  face. 

In  drawing  her  to  her,  a  bunch  of  fading  vio 
lets  had  fallen  from  her  jacket.  But  Gwen  had 
quickly  caught  them.  "  Smell  them.  Sweet  still, 
aren't  they?  George  gave  them  to  me,"  she  had 
said  simply. 

And  that  night — "  George's  eyes  are  just  like 
the  baby's,  aren't  they  ? " — and  the  surprised 
brooding  in  the  gray  eyes,  instantly  concealed. 

And  then  the  letters :  Gwen  coming  from  her 


334  FULFILLMENT 

room,  after  long  intervals,  with  drooping,  swollen 
lids,  and  a  deep  wistfulness  upon  her  lips. 

George's  letters  to  her — Deb. 

The  tie — unbreakable. 

The  tiny,  experienced  lines  deepened  in  the 
corners  of  Deb's  eyes. 

"  Her  eyes  " 

"  To  kiss  them— once." 

But  she  had  not  been  crying — Deb  knew  there 
had  been  no  tears  in  the  farthest  depths  of  the 
gray  eyes.  Ah,  Gwen! 

Suddenly  she  felt  a  furious  throbbing  in  her 
heart  and  clasped  her  hands  tight  over  it. 

If 

The  "  old  maid  "  dreamed. 

Lightening  thoughts  chased  themselves  across 
her  brow,  danced  in  vision  before  her.  Her  eyes 
widened.  Thought  snapped  into  plot.  The  beau 
tiful,  strong  hands  fell  from  her  breast,  lay  apart, 
half  curled  for  action,  in  her  lap. 

She  arose,  the  little  charity  garment  falling 
unheeded  upon  the  floor.  She,  too,  went  and 
poked,  poked  at  the  glowing  heart  of  the  dying 
fire.  Absently,  she  turned  down  the  lamp. 


DEBORAH'S  STORY  335 

Only  the  glowing  heart  of  the  embers  lit  the 
room. 

Deb  stood  alone  looking  down  into  the  dully 
glowing  bed. 

No  one  saw  her  face. 

Deb  was  living. 


CHAPTER  VI 
STRATEGICAL 

IT  was  a  quarter-to-ten  by  the  library  clock 
when  Gwen,  passing  through  the  hall,  met  Suzuki 
coming  in  from  washing  the  front  steps,  bucket 
and  broom  in  hand. 

"  Boy  leave  letter  for  you,"  he  said,  handing 
her  a  square  white  envelope  and  making  to 
pass  on. 

Gwen  wondered.  "Where's  the  boy?"  she 
asked  vaguely,  puzzling  over  the  handwriting. 
"  Deb's,  of  course,"  she  decided  the  next  instant. 
"  The  least  she  could  do — leaving  the  house  be 
fore  I'm  up!" — "Yes?"  she  turned  a  half  ear 
to  Suzuki's  explanation  that  "  Boy  depart  fastly 
on  bike,"  and  was  already  transfixed  with  amaze 
ment  when  he  sauntered  off  to  the  back  regions. 

"  Dear  Gwen,"  she  stood  reading,  "  I'm  off  on 
the  morning's   train  to  Chicago   to  meet  Jane 
Addams  about  our  new  Settlement  House. 
336 


STRATEGICAL  337 

"  Incidentally,  Fm  bringing  home  your  Uncle 
from  Brazil — he  may  arrive  before  me. 

"  You'll  find  plenty  of  paper  money  under  the 
powder-box  on  my  bureau — use  it  all. 

"Don't  be  stingy. 

"  DEBBINS." 

"  Stingy !  "  Gwen  had  no  words  in  her  aston 
ishment.  The  utter  surprise  of  the  act,  the  riddle 
of  each  oddly  enumerated  item,  the  unusual  lack 
of  consideration — "  Why,  she's  crazy,"  Gwen 
gave  up  in  desperation. 

She  began  to  re-read  it,  line  for  line.  "  To  meet 
Jame  Addams  about  the  new  Settlement  House  " 
— what  new  Settlement  House? — and  never  a 
word  to  her  about  such  an  important  commis 
sion  in  contemplation !  "  I  don't  believe  it," 
Gwen  declared  to  herself,  dimly  suspicious  of 
mystery.  "  I'll  ring  up  the  Associated  Chari 
ties, — I  don't  believe  she's  gone  at  all." — "  Your 
Uncle  from  Brazil" — "Who  on  earth  is  that? 
Sounds  like  some  practical  joke." — "  Plenty  of 
money  "— "  What  for  ?  "  "  Don't  be  stingy  "— 
"underlined;  what  can  that  mean?  Sounds  like 


338  FULFILLMENT 

symbolism." — "  Your  Uncle  from  Brazil  " — "  oh, 
that  old  joke  of  mine!  "  A  laugh  escaped  her  as 
she  remembered  that  mythic  Uncle  of  girlish  ro 
mance  who  was  to  make  them  "  happy  ever 
after,"  and  she  wondered  what  twist  of  mind 
could  have  made  Deb  think  of  him  in  this  in 
credible  leave-taking. 

"  It  needs  a  key,"  she  concluded  futilely,  turn 
ing  the  paper  over  in  search  of  further  enlighten 
ment. 

Just  then  the  door-bell  rang  and  Gwen,  a  few 
feet  away,  moved  to  answer  it,  faintly  noting 
at  the  same  time  the  sound  of  a  taxi-cab  purring 
away  from  the  front  of  the  house. 

She  opened  the  door.  On  the  mat  stood  George 
Leland. 

"  O-oh,"  she  murmured  in  bewilderment  and 
the  color  left  her  cheek,  while  he,  between  the 
two  suit-cases  he  had  dropped,  showed  a  burning 
face  in  response  to  her  greeting  and  stood,  his  hat 
in  one  hand,  the  other  outheld. 

"  You  didn't  expect  me,"  he  said  confusedly  as 
their  hands  mechanically  met. 

Speechless,  she  moved  aside  for  him  to  enter, 


STRATEGICAL  339 

and  only  after  he  stood  within  and  the  door  was 
closed,  did  she  find  utterance.  "  I  didn't  know." 

"Didn't  Deb  tell  you?" 

She  shook  her  head  in  negation. 

"  She  sent  me  a  wire." 

"Oh!" 

"  That  you  would  be  quite  alone." 

"  Ye-es." 

"  She  asked  me  if  I  would  come  and  stay  with 
you." 

"  I— see." 

She  did  see.  In  a  flash  the  whole  scheme  of 
the  loving  trickery  burst  upon  her.  They  stood 
facing  each  other,  both  pale  now,  he  breathing 
hurriedly. 

"  I  have  Deb's  dispatches."  He  pulled  out  his 
pocket-book,  fumbled  for  the  yellow  slips,  and 
pressed  them  upon  her. 

"  I  believe  you,"  she  resisted. 

"  Please  read  them,"   he  insisted   stiffly. 

There  were  two.    The  first  read : 

"  Must  leave  for  Chicago  in  day  or  two.  Gwen 
quite  alone.  Will  you  stay  with  her.  Deborah." 

And  the  second: 


340  FULFILLMENT 

"  Will  you  take  Lark  Wednesday  night  and 
go  straight  to  house.  Deborah." 

He  waited  till  she  looked  up,  smilelessly. 

"  I  answered  her  I'd  come  whenever  and  stay 
as  long  as  she  wished,"  he  explained,  smileless 
as  she,  taking  the  slips  from  her.  "  I  see  you 
weren't  prepared.  Queer  piece  of  carelessness  of 
Deb's.  I'll  go,  of  course."  He  stooped  to  his 
suit-cases. 

"  Please  wait,"  she  stayed  him  quickly,  but 
said  no  more,  frowning  beyond  him  and  biting 
her  underlip  in  vexation. 

The  moment  pressed.  She  felt  his  growing 
intolerance  of  the  impossible  situation,  and  as  he 
stooped  again  to  his  luggage,  she  said  precipi 
tately,  incoherently,  "There  is  father's  room — 
and  bath,"  and  his  instant  seizing  of  her  ac 
quiescence  saved  her  further  effort. 

"  I'll  just  pitch  these  in,"  he  said  lightly.  "  I 
know  the  way — don't  bother,"  and  he  strode 
across  the  hall. 

She  stood  where  he  left  her,  resigning  the  fur 
ther  solution  of  the  singular  problem  to  him,  as 
sured  by  his  rough-and-ready  bearing  that  he 


STRATEGICAL  341 

would  forestall  every  embarrassment.  Whatever 
the  unexpected  manner  of  Deb's  strategy,  she  felt 
that  he  was  determined  to  be  a  party  to  it.  Be 
sides,  except  for  the  changed  attitude  their  letters 
had  wrought  between  them,  she  had  not  forgotten 
that  they  had  lived  under  like  conditions  all  those 
months  before  Beth's  coming. 

He  was  back  again  before  she  had  fairly  for 
mulated  these  thoughts,  but  she  faced  him  with 
grave  composure. 

"  Is  it  all  right,  Gwen?  "  he  demanded  at  once, 
standing  purposefully  before  her. 

:<  Yes.    Will  you  be  home  for  dinner?  " 

"  Thanks.    Yes." 

There  was  no  pretense  between  them.  It  was  a 
momentous  experiment  Deb  had  thrust  upon 
them,  the  obvious  terms  of  which  they  must  in 
stantly  and  frankly  accept  or  reject, — and  they 
accepted. 

"  Then  I'm  off.  Give  me  a  latchkey,  so  that 
I  won't  have  to  bother  Martha/' 

He  left  with  a  brightly  nonchalant  good-by,  but 
all  the  way  down  the  long  flight  of  steps  and  into 
town  he  held  in  vision  the  quiet,  girlish  figure 


342  FULFILLMENT 

standing  at  the  back  of  the  hall  with  pale,  lovely 
face  rising  in  stunned  passivity  above  the  dark 
serge  of  her  gown.  His  heart  yearned,  but  un 
yieldingly. 

And  Gwen,  left  alone,  saw,  with  a  tight  com 
mand  of  herself,  the  definite  nature  of  Deb's 
"  experiment."  There  could  be  no  shilly-shally 
ing,  no  false  sensitiveness.  They  had  done  with 
intangible  ideas,  they  were  to  face  brute  fact. 
She  had  made  for  them  this  consummate  oppor 
tunity,  she  had  cleared  the  decks  for  their  final 
action, — with  them  lay  the  rest. 

Had  Deb — understood  ?  In  the  full  tide  of  her 
sudden  self-acknowledgment,  Gwen  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands,  and  there,  under  safe  cover, 
she  allowed  herself  the  painfully  surprising 
knowledge  that  he,  too,  was  ready  for  this  last 
chance  to  know  each  other,  before  drifting  into  a 
listless,  inevitable  disruption.  Honor  demanded 
the  trial.  Whatever  the  way  to  the  end,  whatever 
the  end  might  prove,  man  and  woman  now,  they 
must  go  straight  to  meet  it.  For,  "  God  created 
man  straight,"  she  thought  whimsically,  and 
though  "  he  has  sought  out  many  inventions," 


STRATEGICAL  343 

there  shall  be  no  inventions  between  us  hence 
forth,  she  vowed  in  silence,  in  adoring  accord 
with  the  beloved,  self-exiled  goddess  outside  of 
the  machine. 

At  that  moment  there  intruded  into  her  musing 
the  irrelevant  memory  of  Dr.  Knightley's  unful 
filled  promise  of  the  hospital  application-blank, 
but  she  sharply  closed  her  mind  to  the  irrelevancy, 
turning  without  delay  to  the  more  exigent  recol 
lection  of  George's  innocent  assumption  that  Mar 
tha  was  in  the  house.  She  resolved  to  correct 
the  discrepancy  at  once. 

The  trip  across  the  bay  flashed  like  a  dream 
among  the  more  disturbing  realities,  but  Gwen 
always  retained  of  it  a  peaceful  picture  of  a  sea 
gull  cradling  himself  on  a  rocking  billow,  a  snowy 
darling  of  the  wave.  "  I,  too,  will  let  the  current 
take  me,"  she  mused,  and  capitulation  seemed 
sweet. 

Among  the  clucking  of  chickens  and  the  grunt 
ing  of  a  solitary  baby-pig,  she  found  Martha  wal 
lowing  in  the  joy  of  amusing  her  small  grand- 
nephew.  Gwen  hated  to  disturb  her  rustic 
contentment,  but  knew  no  alternative :  Did  Mar- 


344  FULFILLMENT 

tha  feel  well  enough  to  come  home? — the  Jap 
would  stay  and  do  all  the  work  for  her.  All 
Gwen  asked  of  her  was  to  be  there,  in  the  house, 
Deborah  having  been  called  away  unexpectedly 
for  an  indefinite  length  of  time. 

"  For  the  land's  sakes — lavin'  you  all  alone  o' 
nights!  Whoever  heard  o'  sich  a  thing! 
O'  course  I'll  come,  but  to  think  Miss 
Deb " 

"  Mr.  Leland  is  there,  Martha." 

"  Misther  Layland !  Mis-ther  Layland ! 

Then  phwhat " 

"  Don't  you  feel  strong  enough  to  come, 
Mats?" 

"  Strong  as  a  horse,  darlint, — don't  you  be 
lookin'  so  feard.  I'm  glad  to  go  all  right,  on'y  I 
can't  git  over  Miss  Deb,  an'  she  knowin'  how 
scairt  you  are  o'  the  dark,  bless  your  heart,  me 
darlint.  An'  don't  you  be  talkin'  to  me  about 
your  old  Japs  wid  their  deaf-and-dumb  sass. 
Phwhat'd  I  want  wid  their  smart-alecness  ?  Is 
it  the  one  o'clock  boat  we  can  catch,  and  phwhat 
did  ye  order  for  dinner?  " 

Toward    mid-afternoon    Martha,    happily    at 


STRATEGICAL  345 

home  in  starched  uniform,  appeared  before  her, 
half  hidden  behind  a  huge  box  of  flowers. 

"  Some  flowers !  "  she  announced  breathlessly, 
depositing  her  burden  upon  the  floor.  "  Seems 
like  old  times — turribly  excitin'  after  Miss  Deb's 
and  my  quiet  days." 

Gwen  laughed  after  her  as  she  vanished  in 
exaggeratedly  discreet  haste.  Phrysias,  snow 
drops,  daffodils, — Gwen  wondered  where  and 
how  he  had  forced  the  spring, — irises,  lilies-of- 
the- valley,  all  a  wealth  of  white  and  gold  and 
tender  green  beauty.  There  was  no  card. 
Gwen's  heart  gave  a  sharp  throb  at  the  delicate 
inference  of  the  anonymity,  and  straightway  she 
felt  the  far-away  bells  of  youth  pealing  through 
her  with  their  call  to  hope,  felt  the  fetters  of  sor 
row  loosening  from  her  soul  and,  on  her  knees 
before  his  prodigality,  she  hid  her  face  a  mo 
ment  among  the  cool  depths  of  fragrance.  She 
transformed  the  house  into  a  bower. 

He  came  in  late,  a  guest  waiving  all  ceremony, 
yet  maintaining  a  deferential  distance.  He  had 
anticipated  certain  first  awkwardnesses  and 
hiatuses  by  providing  himself  with  a  handful  of 


346  FULFILLMENT 

illustrated  periodicals  over  which  they  had  a  laugh 
or  two  before  they  went  in  to  dinner.  One  of 
the  illustrations  launched  him  on  a  tale  of  the 
yachting  trip  in  which  Mabel  Goddard  had  figured 
as  a  much-desired,  terrified  tidbit  for  one  of  the 
cannibal  chieftains.  That  he  was  making  a  great 
effort  against  the  dangers  of  silence,  she  knew, 
and  she  led  him  gently  on.  But  conversation, 
later,  in  the  library,  languished,  and  she  let  it 
subside,  picking  up  a  magazine  while  he,  follow 
ing  her  lead,  settled  down  to  another,  comfort 
ably  smoking  and  reading  opposite  her.  They 
had  never  sat  thus  peacefully  together  before. 
But  to  Gwen  the  peace  was  only  without. 

Then  a  trivial  thing  precipitated  turmoil,  as 
trivial  things  do.  Her  slipper  fell  off — her  slip 
per  had  a  habit  of  dropping  off  as  she  sat — and 
he,  glancing  up  at  the  slight  sound,  their  eyes  met, 
and  their  faces  flamed  in  a  rush  of  hateful  mem 
ory.  He  averted  his  eyes  quickly  and  she  hastily 
stooped  to  recover  her  footgear. 

Memory  had  played  them  a  malicious  little 
trick.  The  ugly  thing  had  happened  one  night 
during  their  honeymoon  days — the  little  fallen 


STRATEGICAL  347 

shoe,  his  swift  springing  up  and  kneeling  to  re 
place  it,  his  quick  kiss  of  the  slender  foot  caught 
close  within  his  hand,  and  her  tempestuous, 
"  How  dare  you !  "  as  she  had  kicked  his  hand 
away.  He  had  laughed  then,  she  remembered, — 
he  had  always  laughed  away  her  perversities. 

She  arose  a  few  minutes  later  in  her  unhappy 
unrest,  merely  to  adjust  the  lamp,  but  he,  misin 
terpreting,  was  on  his  feet  at  once. 

"  Let  me  do  the  locking-up,"  he  said  briskly, 
as  though  no  ugly  ghost  had  just  passed  between 
them.  "  I'll  feel  my  importance  more  and  I  know 
how  you  hate  going  into  dark  rooms." 

She  laughed.  "  Thanks  for  remembering  my 
foolishness.  Then,  good-night." 

Leland  stood  looking  after  her  long  after  she 
had  disappeared,  but  the  smile  had  vanished  from 
his  lips. 


CHAPTER  VII 
MARY  BATES'S  SON 

LOWERING  skies  greeted  the  dawn  and  by  noon 
a  soft,  persistent  rain,  announcing  itself  in  silvery 
whisperings  against  window-panes  and  pave 
ments,  soon  settled  into  a  steady  downpour.  Mrs. 
Harrison,  whom  Gwen  expected  for  a  cozy  chat, 
telephoned  that  her  cold  was  so  bad  Olive  for 
bade  her  leaving  the  house. 

"  But  you  come  over  here,  Gwen.  We'll  be 
as  snug  as  can  be  by  ourselves.  We  have  a  roar 
ing  fire  in  the  sitting-room." 

"  So  have  I,  but  I  don't  think  I'll  come  today, 
dear."  She  was  conscious  of  a  flashing  sense  of 
escape.  "  I  have  a  number  of  little  homely  things 
to  do  that  I  can't  bring  with  me." 

"  Writing?" 

"  That's  one." 

"  Well,  then  you  and  Deb  come  over  for  din- 


348 


MARY  BATES'S  SON  349 

"  Deb's  on  the  road  to  Chicago,  you  know." 

"  No,  I  didn't  know.  What  is  she  doing 
there?" 

"  Settlement  work/' 

"  Really  ?  Then  so  much  the  more  reason  for 
you  to  pack  right  up  and  come  over  and  stay 
while  she's  gone.  You  don't  suppose  I'm  going 
to  let  you  poke  there  all  alone,  and  you  so  afraid 
of  the  dark!" 

Gwen  laughed.  "  My  fear  of  the  dark  seems  to 
be  a  by-word,  but  I'm  much  better  than  I  used  to 
be,  I'm  proud  to  boast.  Besides,  Martha's  here." 

"  Oh,  is  she  ?  I'm  glad  to  hear  that.  But  you 
come  over  to  dinner  tonight  anyway." 

"  And — George  is  here,  too." 

"Who?" 

"  George.  My Why,  George  Leland,  you 

know." 

"O-oh!    Why— I  see." 

What  did  she  "  see  "  !  A  rush  of  furious  irri 
tation  over  the  pregnant  pause  and  tone  made 
Gwen  long  to  dash  the  receiver  into  its  hold 
before  the  startled,  smooth  voice  could  resume 
its  trail. 


350  FULFILLMENT 

"  But  the  invitation  stands  whenever  you — 
and  he — feel  like  running  in,  don't  forget,  Gwen 
dear." 

"  Thanks.  Maybe  I'll  run  in  tomorrow  night," 
she  added  with  deliberate  mischief,  and  it  took 
her  a  few  minutes  to  regain  her  equanimity  after 
she  had  rung  off.  But  her  knitted  brows  soon 
straightened  under  a  musing  smile  born  of  a 
vision  of  Mrs.  Harrison's  excited  and  troubled 
wondering. 

The  afternoon  was  only  two-thirds  over  when 
Leland  came  quietly  into  the  library  where  she 
was  sitting  writing  near  the  fire  of  blazing  logs, 
and  slipped  into  the  old  leather  arm-chair  before 
her,  without  a  word  of  greeting  or  explanation. 
She  accepted  the  simplicity  of  his  directness  with 
a  curious  sense  of  joy,  sending  him  a  fleeting 
smile  in  silent  salutation.  His  first  utterance  was 
quite  devoid  of  self-consciousness. 

"  How  would  you  describe  the  smell  of  burn 
ing  logs?"  he  said  as  though  continuing  a  con 
versation,  drawing  in  a  deep  whiff  of  the  crack 
ling  woodsy  warmth.  "  The  room  is  full  of  it — 
it's  delicious." 


MARY  BATES'S  SON  351 

"  Why,"  she  meditated,  resting  her  pencil,  "  I 
should  describe  it — as — the  smell  of  burning 
logs !  "  She  glanced  across  at  him  in  triumphant 
brightness. 

He  laughed.  "  Is  that  the  best  you  can  do?  I 
expected  just  the  right  word  from  you.  What 
are  you  doing?"  He  put  out  his  hand  to  the 
writing-pad  in  her  lap.  "  Have  I  disturbed  you? 
May  I  put  it  away?"  Without  awaiting  her 
leave,  he  took  it  from  her  and  placed  it  upon  the 
table  at  his  side.  She  felt  him  mastering  the 
moment,  mastering  her  as  he  had  mastered  him 
self,  by  his  very  assumption  of  mastery. 

She  told  herself  with  sudden  insight  that  the 
diffidence  he  had  always  worn  before  her,  in  the 
vanished  days  of  his  wooing,  had  fled  with  the 
blindness  of  his  worship,  that  now  the  imperious- 
ness  of  the  wiser  male  was  asserting  itself  in  all  its 
primal  self-assurance.  She  lent  herself  to  the 
suggestion. 

"  Put  out  your  hand  again,"  she  said  lightly, 
"  and  hand  me  that  sewing-basket  at  the  other 
end  of  the  table.  That's  it — thanks." 

"  Feel  better — doing  something?  " 


352  FULFILLMENT 

"  I  like  to — while  it  rains." 

He  watched  her,  leaning  a  little  forward,  his 
hands  busily  re- winding  a  spool  of  thread  which 
had  rolled  from  her  lap,  while  she,  with  head 
bent  over  her  work,  explained  to  him  their  un 
remitting  sewing  for  the  Poor. 

The  rain  lisped  ceaslessly  without,  the  fire 
crackled,  the  penetrating,  piney  fragrance  filled 
the  room.  They  spoke  fitfully  with  long  silences 
between.  Gwen  half -believed  she  would  wake 
presently  from  a  tantalizing  dream. 

Suddenly  he  put  down  the  scissors  and  card 
at  which  he  had  been  idly  snipping,  and  asked 
her  to  play. 

"  Play  ?  "  she  questioned. 

"  Why — the  piano."  He  nodded  toward  its 
corner.  "  Chopin — a  song — anything." 

"  I  didn't  know  you  cared.  Oh,  yes,  I  remem 
ber  now."  She  put  her  work  on  the  low  tabouret 
beside  her,  ready  to  yield  to  his  whim,  started 
up,  sat  down  again.  "  I  don't  think  I  can,"  she 
pleaded.  "  Don't  ask  me,  please.  I  haven't 
played  since — Ross."  He  looked  at  her  in  quick 
contrition.  "  You  play,"  she  begged  with  a  swift 


MARY  BATES'S  SON  353 

smile.  "  I  know  you  sing.  Mabel  told  me  so, 
years  ago." 

He  sat  moveless,  lying  back  in  his  chair.  He 
had  never  sung  for  her,  she  had  never  heard  him 
sing, — she  had  only  been  "  told  "  that  he  sang. 
"  Was  it  really  years  ago?  "  he  queried,  musing. 

"  I  don't  know — I've  lost  count.  Everything 
seems  ages  ago." 

"  And  yet  it's  only His  sentence  re 
mained  unfinished.  Rising  abruptly,  he  went  over 
to  the  old-fashioned  rosewood  chest  and,  half- 
kneeling,  began  to  examine  the  piled-up  sheets  of 
music. 

"  Those  are  mother's  songs  in  that  pile,"  she 
directed,  glancing  toward  him  while  he  silently 
turned  over  the  music. 

He  chose  two  and  went  over  to  the  piano, 
straddling  the  stool  and  rubbing  his  hands  vigor 
ously.  "  Haven't  seen  these  in  'steen  years,  or 
played  a  note  since  I  can  remember,"  he  mur 
mured  as  if  to  himself,  and  struck  a  chord. 

Gwen  sat  up,  wide-eyed.  After  the  first  hesi 
tant  notes  she  recognized  a  peculiar  delicacy  of 
touch,  almost  womanish.  He  played  the  prelude, 


354  FULFILLMENT 

humming  lightly  to  himself,  then  broke  into  the 
lingering  sentiment  of  the  old  ballad,  "  Drink  to 
Me  only  with  Thine  Eyes." 

His  voice  was  a  sweet  baritone  carrying  the 
slow  measure  and  meaning  of  the  lines  with  pecu 
liar  richness  of  tone,  flooding  the  room  with  a 
harmony  almost  unbearable  to  Gwen.  That  she 
had  known  nothing  of  his  gift!  She  had  heard 
no  music  since  the  baby's  death,  and  now,  com 
ing  thus  from  him,  it  filled  her  heart  nigh 
to  bursting,  and  her  slow  tears  fell,  unper- 
ceived. 

He  sang  both  verses  through,  and  immediately, 
without  waiting  for  comment  or  seeming  to  no 
tice  the  lack  of  it  from  the  silent  figure  in  the 
background,  he  struck  into  "  Sally  in  Our  Alley," 
and  the  quaint  lilt  of  the  melody  restored  her 
poise  again  before  he  swung  around  on  the  seat. 
He  lounged  back  against  the  instrument,  his  arms 
stretched  along  the  keys. 

"  Great  songs,  those  old  ones,"  he  said,  clear 
ing  his  throat. 

"  It's  your  voice — and  the  way  you  sing  them. 
That  was  beautiful." 


MARY  BATES'S  SON  355 

The  blood  mounted  to  his  brow.  "  D'you  like 
'em  ?  "  he  asked,  boyishly  shy  under  her  praise. 

"Who  taught  you?" 

He  looked  ahead  of  her  without  answering  for 
a  moment,  then  the  words  came  with  labored  pre 
cision.  "  The  one  who  taught  me  everything  I 
know  that's  worth  knowing." 

His  tone  forbade  prompting.  She  sat  wait 
ing.  After  a  pause  he  straightened  up,  his  hands 
on  his  knees.  "  My  mother  taught  me,"  he  an 
swered  briefly. 

Shadows  were  gathering  in  the  corners  of  the 
room.  It  seemed  to  Gwen  a  strange,  new  pres 
ence  had  come  in  with  them  and  his  words. 

She  leaned  aj  little  forward,  speaking  low. 
"  Will  you  tell  me  about  her?  " 

He  sat  without  moving,  his  hands  clutching  at 
his  knees,  his  head  slightly  bent  among  the  clus 
tering  shadows  as  if  listening  to  them.  Yet  she 
knew  he  had  heard  her. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  mused  with  an  intonation 
of  bitterness.  "  I  don't  know  that  I  can,  exactly. 
People  have  such  a  strong  sense  of  humor  these 
days,  such  a  high-brow  contempt  for  anything 


356  FULFILLMENT 

approaching  sentiment,  that  one  naturally  hesitates 

to  open  one's "  His  jaws  locked  together 

over  the  word. 

"  Shrine,"  she  supplied  quietly. 

He  looked  into  her  grave  eyes  quickly,  the 
defiant  expression  of  his  mouth  and  chin  subtly 
softening.  "  I  forgot,"  he  said  swiftly.  "  I  don't 
think  you'd  mock, — now." 

Suddenly  he  got  up,  shaking  himself  as  if  pull 
ing  mind  and  body  together.  "  Yes,  I'll  tell  you 
about  her,"  he  said  roughly,  taking  a  stride  across 
the  room  only  to  double  back  upon  his  footsteps 
and  coming  to  a  standstill  near  her,  his  elbow  on 
the  mantel,  his  head  resting  in  his  hand.  "  Yes, 
I'll  tell  you  about  her/'  he  repeated  deliberately, 
looking  down  into  her  uplifted  face.  He  cleared 
his  throat  again.  "  She  was  the  noblest  woman  I 
have  ever  known." 

"  Noble  "—that  word !  It  had  a  sound  like  a 
grand,  old-time  hymn.  To  have  that  word  ap 
plied  to  one  by  one's  son !  She  continued  to  look 
up  at  him,  unblinking. 

"  She  gave  me  everything  she  had." 

"  Yes, — she  would  have,"  breathed  Gwen. 


MARY  BATES'S  SON  357 

"  You — you  can't  know." 

"  Yes— I  can  know." 

"  No." 

She  smiled  in  tender  wisdom,  silent  under  his 
passionate  bigotry. 

"  I  knew  her — as  she  never  knew  I  knew  her." 

Gwen  paled,  she  felt  something  more  here  than 
blind  worship. 

"  She  used  to  look  away  to  the  hills,"  he  went 
on,  beating  out  his  words,  staccato  fashion,  "  she 
had  a  passion  for  the  hills  overlooking  our  land. 
One  evening  on  the  porch,  when  we  were  alone 
together,  I  heard  her  murmur  as  if  quoting  to 
herself,  '  In  the  heart  of  their  Majesty  is  peace — 
in  the  heart  of  their  Majesty  is  peace/  Then  she 
noticed  me,  and  smiled.  Her  smile  was  all  her 
self." 

She  listened  as  to  a  stranger.  "  He  does  not 
have  to  find  his  words,"  she  told  herself,  "he  is 
speaking  from  his  soul — he  is  exalted." 

"  She's  lying  there  now,"  he  said.  "  Alone." 
His  eyes  burned  into  her  dimmed  ones. 

"  Your — father  ?  "  she  ventured,  scarce  above 
a  whisper. 


358  FULFILLMENT 

"  She  had  asked  it  of  him  as  a  last  favor, — 
she  said  it  was  a  whim.  It  was  the  only  whim 
she  had  ever  expressed,  and,  of  course,  he  granted 
it  as  he  would  have,  had  she  asked  to  be  laid 
fathoms  deep  in  the  sea — away  from  him.  I 
don't  believe  he  ever  understood." 

"  Hush,"  she  murmured,  both  to  his  bitterness 
and  because  of  the  Presence  which  seemed  to  have 
drawn  nearer  with  the  deepening  shadows. 

He  shifted  his  position  and,  with  it,  his  voice 
slipped  down  to  a  quieter  level.  "  When  I  said 
her  smile  was  all  herself,  I  meant  it  seemed  to 
hold  all  she  had  ever  lived.  Shall  I  tell  you  about 
her  life?" 

"Will  you?" 

"  Her  name  was  Mary  Bates " 

"  I  knew  it  would  be  Mary." 

His  eyes  spoke  his  amazement  over  her  irre 
pressible  interruption.  "How  did  you  know?" 

"  I  knew,"  she  nodded  enigmatically. 

He  smiled  over  her  artless  accord  and  uncon 
sciously  took  the  chair  before  her,  leaning  a 
little  toward  her  in  the  attitude  of  deep  confi 
dence. 


MARY  BATES'S  SON  359 

"  She  was  a  teacher  in  the  public  schools  of 
Bakersfield.  My  father,  plain  farmer  John  Le- 
land,  fell  in  love  with  her  along  with  many  other 
suitors.  He  was  twenty  years  her  senior." 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  G wen's  tongue  to  cry  out 
foolishly,  "  But  she  didn't  marry  him !  "  but  recol 
lected  in  time. 

"  He  wooed  her  for  seven  years, — like  Jacob  of 
old, — and  God  knows  it  must  have  been  a  silent 
wooing,  because  he  was  a  man  of  few  words, — 
and  those  not  always  grammatical, — before  she 
consented  to  marry  him.  I  don't  know  why  she 
finally  consented."  He  spoke  the  unexpected 
comment  in  blunt  directness. 

"  Not,"  he  hastened  to  add,  "  because  he  spoke 
ungrammatically  and  was  untutored  in  social 
ways  and  manners, — I  mean,  that  isn't  what  al 
ways  made  me  wonder, — what  I  meant  was  I 
don't  really  know  just  what  cause  made  her  finally 
give  in.  But — sometimes — I  thought  I  knew 
why." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  of  me." 

"  But — George ! — you  weren't  there !  " 


36o  FULFILLMENT 

"  I  know.    But  she  had  dreamed  me." 

He  flashed  his  meaning  upon  her  with  uncanny 
simplicity  of  instinct.  Gwen  caught  her  breath, 
understanding,  through  his  words,  many  things 
which  had  been  dark. 

"  And  so,"  Mary  Bates's  son  went  on,  "  she, 
the  darling  of  all  Bakersfield,  married  plain  John 
Leland,  a  good  man  and  true,  with  a  heart  as 
wide  as  his  lands.  She  came  to  live  on  the  ranch, 
and  all  the  days  of  their  married  life  she  made 
perfect  for  him." 

Gwen's  face  burned.  "  She  would  have,"  she 
murmured  again  tremulously. 

"  How  can  you  know  that  ?  "  he  questioned  in 
breathless  seeking. 

She  let  her  grave  gray  eyes  make  answer  and, 
under  the  spell  of  her  unflinching  sympathy,  he 
broke  forth  without  restraint. 

"  When  she  was  dying  I  told  her — what  she 
had  been  to  me.  She  lay  quiet  a  long  time  and 
then  she  said  slowly,  '  When  I  was  a  teacher,  I 
aimed  to  be  a  perfect  teacher, — when  I  became  a 
mother,  I  prayed  to  be  a  perfect  mother.  Many 
would  say  that  it  is  easy  for  one  who  loves  much, 


MARY  BATES'S  SON  361 

but  had  anyone  said  to  me,  "  Is  that  all  ? "  I 
would  have  answered,  "  That  includes  every 
thing."  '  " 

Wider  and  wider  grew  the  vision  of  mother 
hood  to  Gwen  while  his  voice  rested  upon  his 
sacred  mound  of  memory,  wider  and  wider  grew 
her  vision  of  womanhood.  They  watched  a  log 
break  and  the  flame  leap  high  among  the  flying 
sparks.  Anon,  he  picked  up  the  thread  of  his 
story. 

"  She  never  gave  up  her  interest  in  educational 
or  helpful  things,  and  whatever  time  she  could 
find,  she  gave  to  them.  Two  or  three  times  a 
week,  as  founder  and  president  of  the  Child  Wel 
fare  Association  and  director  of  the  Kindergar 
tens,  she  was  in  Bakersfield  doing  the  work  for 
which  she  was  peculiarly  fitted.  And,  up  to  my 
tenth  year,  she  was  my  only  teacher.  Then, 
knowing  that  I  was  as  much  at  home  in  the  saddle 
as  any  of  the  cowboys,  she  let  me  ride  in  to  town 
to  school,  on  my  pony.  She  must  have  had  a 
terrible  tussle  with  herself,  letting  me  do  it — I 
don't  believe  she  was  ever  quite  at  rest  when  I 
was  out  of  her  sight," — his  smile  was  tenderly 


362  FULFILLMENT 

reminiscent, — "  but  she  always  conquered  herself 
when  it  was  a  question  of  someone  else's  benefit, 
especially  mine.  It  was  in  the  evenings  that  she 
taught  me  to  sing — and  play,  and  dance.  Those 
dancing  lessons !  "  He  laughed  outright,  in  happy 
recollection. 

"  We  had  a  music-box — it  was  long  before  the 
days  of  talking-machines — and  a  very  good  one 
of  its  kind  it  was, — it  would  grind  out  *  The  Beau 
tiful  Blue  Danube'  and  'The  Blue  Alsatian  Moun 
tains  '  until  further  notice.  But  you  should  have 
seen  her  dance  the  Highland  Fling !  She  was  tall, 
but  graceful  as  a  willow,  and  she  used  to  pretend 
she  was  dancing  the  unending  variations  in  a 
trance.  My  father  and  I  used  to  laugh  till  we 
cried." 

He  stopped  a  minute,  glancing  back  at  those 
dim,  dead  days  and  nights  of  simple  joys.  He 
got  up  to  throw  another  log  on  the  andirons  and 
stood  leaning  his  elbow  on  the  mantel  again,  look 
ing  down  into  the  blaze.  Outside  the  rain  fell 
steadily. 

"  It  was  when  I  was  sixteen  that  she  came  to 
me — I  mean,  that  I  came  to  know  her  wholly." 


MARY  BATES'S  SON  363 

He  was  speaking  more  carefully,  as  if  choosing 
his  words.  "  She  used  to  come  down  to  the  edge 
of  the  alfalfa  field  to  meet  me,  every  evening  at 
five,  and  we  would  go  for  a  walk.  She  wore — 
for  years,  I  think — a  long,  dark  blue,  military- 
looking  cape,  but  she  wore  nothing  on  her  dark 
hair.  She  was  very  noble-looking." 

He  paused  to  hold  his  picture  before  Gwen's 
gaze,  and  again,  Mary  Bates,  "  noble-looking  "  in 
her  long,  dark  blue  cape,  walked  down  a  country 
lane  to  meet  her  boy  in  the  evening  light. 

"  We  put  our  arms  across  each  other's 
shoulders  and  walked  on,  talking, — like  com 
rades." 

"  Like  lovers,"  came  from  Gwen. 

"  Like  lovers 

"  I  don't  believe  any  woman  ever  talked  to  her 
child  as  my  mother  did  to  me,"  he  exclaimed  pas 
sionately,  and  then  added,  quieting  down,  "  but 
there  was  one  talk  no  man,  who  isn't  a  beast, 
could  ever  forget, — the  memory  of  it  often  gave 
me  the  strength  to  fight  out  many  a  vigorous  bat 
tle — with  myself — and  win.  I — think — I  want 
you  to  know  about  that." 


364  FULFILLMENT 

He  turned  from  the  blaze  and  was  looking 
squarely,  with  stern  intent,  down  into  her  upraised 
eyes. 

"  It  was  an  evening  in  June,  and  we  turned 
and  walked  southward  toward  the  wheat-field. 
Generally  we  chose  the  path  together,  but  that 
evening  she  asked  no  questions — she  led  me.  I 
know  now  it  was  a  deliberate  choice,  though  I 
gave  it  no  thought  then 

"  There  had  been,  between  us,  what  seemed  to 
me  an  unbridgable  estrangement.  I — I  was  com 
ing  into  manhood — I  was  going  to  High 
School 

"  So  she  took  me  down  into  the  wheat-fields. 
The  wheat  stood  high,  almost  to  our  waists,  a 
sea  of  gently  waving  gold,  heavy  for  the  harvest 
ing,  the  heads  rustled  against  one  another,  as  if 
whispering.  You  know  the  sound. 

"  She  stood  still, — she  often  stood  still  during 
our  walks,  and  I  thought  nothing  of  it.  '  The  full 
heads,'  she  said,  as  if  dreaming.  (  Sound  and 
clean,  sound  and  clean.'  She  had  a  way  of  re 
peating,  of  lingering  over  anything  she  wanted  to 
communicate  to  my  understanding.  So  I  saw  the 


MARY  BATES'S  SON  365 

wheat,  as  she  wanted  me  to  see  it — sound  and 
clean — sound  and  clean." 

(Was  it  in  a  dream  Gwen  had  heard  Deb  cry 
ing,  "  He  is  so  sound  and  clean,  as  though  he 
were  kept  so  by  something  outside  himself.  He 
is  in  a  class  by  himself !  "  And  her  own  scoffing 
laughter ) 

Her  face  flamed  up  in  ready  understanding, 
went  pale  under  his  absorbed  regard,  absorbed 
in  a  memory  in  which  she  held  no  part. 

"  She  spoke  of  the  teeming  earth — Mother  Eve, 
she  called  it, — said  how  proud  she  must  feel  ly 
ing  there  under  her  perfect  harvest.  She  spoke 
of  the  wonder  of  production  and  reproduction, 
and  then  she  spoke  of  the  miracle  of  human  crea 
tion,  and  of  the  miracle  of  miracles — procreation. 

"  She  spoke  of  the  responsibility  of  giving 
life, — of  the  choice  of  handing  on  strength  and 
cleanness,  or  weakness  and — rottenness.  She 
spoke  of  the  power  of  control  that  shall  some  day 
rule  the  sons  of  men — for  their  sons'  sakes.  She 
showed  me  my  son " 

"  Oh,  God,"  cried  the  heart  of  the  woman  lis 
tening,  "  give  me  a  son,  give  me  a  son !  "  And 


366  FULFILLMENT 

she  longed  to  rise  up  and  stand  beside  him, 
shoulder  to  shoulder,  challenging  the  skeptic 
world, — but  she  sat  quite  still. 

"  All  these  things  she  told  me — almost  twenty 
years  ago — twenty  years  in  advance  of  her  day 
and  custom.  But  she  knew  no  custom  when  it 
stood  in  the  way  of  duty.  Don't  think  it  was 
easy  for  her, — I  felt  her  trembling  under  my 
arm — as  I  was  trembling. 

"  And  then,  on  the  top  of  that  great  purpose 
accomplished, — she  spoke  of  you." 

She  thought  she  had  not  heard  aright,  thought 
his  thoughts  were  wandering,  but  he  was  looking 
down  at  her  straight  and  steadily,  without  a  smile. 
She  smiled  questioningly  up  into  his  grave  face. 

"  But,"  she  hesitated,  "  how  could  she  speak 
of  me?  She  didn't  know  me." 

"  No,  she  didn't  know  you.  She  called  you, 
'  The  girl  who  is  waiting.' '  He  laughed  a  little, 
briefly.  "  She  said  '  Somewhere  in  the  world 
there's  a  girl  who  is  being  kept  perfect  for  you — 
she  does  not  know  it  is  for  you,  but  it  is, — as 
you  shall  keep  yourself  for  her,  because  you  are 
my  son.  I  have  lived  all  my  life  for  that,  I 


MARY  BATES'S  SON  367 

think, — you  won't  let  it  be  in  vain.'  All  this  she 
said  that  day,  and  much  like  it  many  times  after, 
because  there  was  nothing,  no  doubt,  no  strug 
gle,  no  temptation,  I  didn't  bring  to  her,  after 
that.  She  became  my  mother-confessor 

"  But  she  was,  above  all,  a  romantic  woman. 
She  made  Love  personal  to  me, — personal  love, 
she  said,  was  consecration,  impersonal,  desecra 
tion.  She  directed  all  my  dreams  to  the  One  who 
was  waiting, — we  often  spoke  of  her — wonder 
ing.  It  was  fascinating  talk." 

She  wanted  to  cover  her  face  with  her  hands, 
but  would  not,  braving  his  words,  his  regard,  with 
unwavering  eyes,  but  quivering  lips.  For 
f(  Tekel! "  cried  the  past  across  the  chasm  of 
time  to  this  moment  of  judgment.  Tekel — thou 
art  weighed  in  the  balance  and  found  wanting! 
Was  there,  perchance,  another,  who  had,  in  all 
encounters  with  life,  kept  herself  perfect  for  him? 
Had  he  met  her — would  he  ever  meet  her?  Ah, 
but  he  had  said,  "  You !  "  Humbly,  her  eyelids 
fell,  and  she  found  memory  chanting,  like  a  bat 
tle  hymn,  the  refrain  of  the  Unattainable,  of 
Idealism : 


368  FULFILLMENT 

"  Enough  for  me  in  dreams  to  see 
And  touch  thy  garment's  hem; 
Thy  feet  have  trod  so  near  to  God 
I  may  not  follow  them." 

A  long  silence  had  fallen  upon  them,  and  she 
knew  that  he  had  finished  Mary  Bates's  story, 
but  she  could  not  put  her  away. 

"How  long  ago — when  did  she  die?"  Her 
voice  was  low  and  spent  with  the  emotions 
through  which  she  had  passed. 

"  When  I  was  twenty-four,  nearly  ten  years 
ago.  My  father  followed  her  a  week  later.  The 
day  after  his  passing,  they  struck  oil  on  the  ranch. 
And  the  old  life  was  over." 

Still  Gwen  brooded  upon  her  who  was  lying, 
"  alone,"  among  the  hills. 

"  Have  you  a  picture  of  her?" 

With  a  swift,  accustomed  hand,  he  drew  from 
his  breast-pocket  a  small  object  and  placed  it  in 
her  lap.  Surprised  at  the  singular  response,  she 
looked  down  and  saw  that  it  was  indeed  a  dark 
leather  photograph-case.  They  were  in  deep 
shadows  now,  so  she  took  it  over  to  the  light, 


MARY  BATES'S  SON  369 

close  to  the  windows.  He  followed  her,  watching 
in  silence  while  she  opened  it. 

A  low  exclamation  escaped  her,  a  cry  almost  of 
recognition,  so  vibrant  was  the  personality  of  the 
pictured  face  regarding  her,  a  personality  borne 
into  her  by  the  soft  glow  in  the  expectant  eyes 
beneath  the  beautiful  sweep  of  the  brow,  by  the 
firm  strength  of  the  meeting  lips,  by  the  glad 
poise  of  the  proud  head,  by  the  living  radiance 
of  the  woman. 

"What  a  woman!"  breathed  Gwen.  "Oh, 
George,  how  gloriously  alive  she  is  there — expect 
ing  something  splendid ! " 

"  How  you  understand  her !  "  breathed  her  son, 
in  turn,  carried  off  his  feet  by  her  absorbed  en 
thusiasm. 

"  Understand  her !  Oh,  yes,  fully, — but  to 
emulate  her,  to  be  like  her,  to  approach  her — I 
never  could." 

"  Why  should  you  be  like  anyone — but  your 
self?" 

She  did  not  look  up,  caught  in  pained  confusion 
by  the  gentle  quiet  of  his  answer. 


370  FULFILLMENT 

"  Will  you  let  me  keep  her — just  for  one 
night?" 

"  Surely.  I've  always  wanted  to  share  her 
with  you." 

Ah,  the  unintentional,  deep  rebuke  of  his 
words!  ^Eons  ago  he  had  said,  in  different 
mood,  "  Now  I  know  why  I  could  never  tell  you 
— you  are  unworthy!  "  Was  she  less  unworthy 
in  his  eyes  now? 

"But  you  won't  leave  it  around,  will  you?" 
He  laughed  lightly  across  her  unshared,  stinging 
memory.  "  I  never  do." 

For  answer,  closing  the  case,  she  thrust  it  into 
the  surpliced  folds  of  her  gown.  "Safe?"  she 
questioned  with  an  upward  smile,  and  turned  to 
throw  open  the  window. 

The  rain  had  ceased,  the  damp,  sweet  air  blew 
in  on  them  laden  with  the  fragrance  of  wet  grass, 
and  heliotrope,  and  rich  earth,  from  the  rain- 
soaked  terrace  below.  She  drew  in  long  breaths 
of  it,  leaning  out  to  pluck  a  sprig  of  the  climb 
ing  fragrance.  "  Put  it  in  your  buttonhole,"  she 
said,  proffering  it. 

«  George " 


MARY  BATES'S  SON  371 

He  glanced  up  from  inserting  the  pale  flower, 
uncertain  that  he  had  heard  her,  her  voice  was  so 
low.  "Yes?" 

"  Will  you — go  down — there — with  me  tomor 
row?" 

"Shall  we  motor  down?" 

"If  you  prefer."  They  spoke  in  hushed 
tones. 

"  In  the  morning,  then.  You  see,  Strachan — 
Lord  Strachan  of  London — is  due  to  arrive  to 
morrow,  and  the  directors  have  agreed  to  leave 
him  on  my  hands  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  I  saw 
a  good  deal  of  him  on  the  other  side,  and  I'm 
afraid  it's  up  to  me  to  ask  him  and  a  few  others 
to  dine  at  the  Club  tomorrow  night.  But  I  won't 
be  late.  And,  while  I  think  of  it,  I'd  better  tell 
you  that  before  I  came  home  this  afternoon  I 
was  at  the  Children's  Hospital — to  arrange  about 
endowing  a  bed — in  memory  of — the  baby.  I 
made  out  the  check  in  your  name — so  you'll 
understand  if  you  hear  from  the  Board,  and " 

Her  hand  was  too  close  for  him  to  ignore  it. 
He  pressed  her  fingers  numb,  smiling  deep  into 
her  swimming  eyes  before  he  let  them  go.  "  Dr. 


372  FULFILLMENT 

Knightley  happened  to  be  there,"  he  went  on  un 
steadily  for  a  second,  but  found  his  matter-of- 
fact  voice  almost  instantly.  "  He  most  impres 
sively  asked  to  be  remembered  to  you." 

She  laughed  outright,  to  his  great  surprise,  but 
offered  no  explanation,  turning  her  eyes  away 
and  gazing  out  upon  the  scene  without. 

"  Look !  "  she  cried  suddenly,  and  he  came 
behind  her  in  order  to  see.  The  west  was  a  blaze 
of  copper  and  gold  shot  through  with  out-rushing 
wings  of  rose,  all  laid  over  a  bed  of  palest  forget- 
me-not,  while  the  low  horizon's  rim  was  a  sea 
of  jade.  The  glory  beckoned. 

"  Put  on  your  hat  and  coat,"  he  exclaimed  un 
expectedly,  "  and  let's  go  for  a  walk." 

It  was  an  inspiration.  Gwen  never  forgot  the 
wonder  of  that  walk,  the  witching  sunset  hour, 
the  pure,  jewel-like  ether,  their  quick,  swinging 
gait  together  toward — almost  as  if  into — the 
splendor  of  the  sky  which  seemed  to  speed  as 
with  wings  her  feet,  her  whole  body,  her  thoughts. 
His  nearness,  sweet,  yet  far 

They  came  back  in  the  evening  light,  breath 
less,  joyous  as  a  boy  and  girl,  she  radiant.  He, 


MARY  BATES'S  SON  373 

in  his  policy  of  "  watchful  waiting,"  dared  not 
look  at  her  because  of  her  girlish  radiance. 


"O— birdling,  flying  far  "— 

It  was  the  meadow-lark's  brief  melody  rising 
now  and  again  from  the  hedges  as  they  sped  past, 
it  was  Gwen's  yearning  heart  welling  out  with  it 
into  the  unsung  words. 

A  low,  gray  sky  hung  over  them, — sky,  and 
bird-song,  and  humans  enfolded  in  a  strange  com 
munion,  infinitely  tender,  infinitely  intimate,  in 
finitely  sweet. 

"  O— birdling,  flying  far  "— 

Again  the  broken  plaint  rose  to  the  low-bend 
ing  sky,  calling  it  to  witness,  calling  it  to  solace 
the  two  dark  figures  standing  close  together  be 
side  the  little  shrine.  It  drew  their  eyes,  in  a 
giving,  in  a  taking, — a  long  gaze,  like  a  dawn 
ing,  like  a  meeting,  like  a  merging,  ending  in  a 
wild  blur  of  tears. 

Together  they  knelt  and  strewed  their  offering 


374  FULFILLMENT 

of  pansies,  and  very  gently  he  pressed  her  hand 
down  over  the  little  flower  faces  into  the  sod,  and, 
stooping,  laid  his  lips  upon  it  under  her  raining 
tears.  Together,  in  a  gray  oblivion  they  moved 
away. 

She  spoke  her  first  word  when  they  sighted 
home  again.  "  Don't  get  out,"  she  said,  and 
sprang  to  the  pavement  before  the  car  had  fairly 
stopped. 

Two  steps  up  the  long  flight  she  heard  him  be 
hind  her,  felt  his  arm  encircling,  yet  not  touching 
her,  as  they  went  up.  But  she  did  not  raise  her 
swollen  lids. 

In  the  hall  he  drew  both  her  hands  to  his  breast, 
whispered  breathlessly,  "  Wait  for  me  tonight," — 
and  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
A  SONG  OF  SONGS 

HE  had  broken  the  spell.  His  two  days' 
"  watchful  waiting  "  had  snapped,  and  he  had  de 
clared  for  action.  All  Gwen's  faculties  stood  at 
locked  attention,  her  eyes  looked  out  in  steady 
survey,  her  lips  set  in  a  line  of  fine  resolution 
for  the  awaited  task. 

All  day  she  conned  it  in  exaltation,  but  when 
evening  approached,  divining  that  he  would  be 
in  to  dress  for  dinner,  she  hurriedly  made  ready 
to  avoid  that  awkward  meeting.  She  slipped  into 
a  soft  little  gown  of  black  and,  looking  at  her 
self  through  his  eyes,  with  a  quick  flush  of  grati 
tude  over  the  reflected  vision,  she  turned  hur 
riedly  away,  and  left  the  house. 

She  gave  herself  up  to  an  hour  of  strange  joy- 
ousness  with  Jean  Wickham's  children,  and  when 
they  reluctantly  escorted  her  to  the  gate,  wafting 
"  come  back  "  kisses  to  her  all  the  way  down 

375 


376  FULFILLMENT 

the  street  as  she  went,  with  starry,  smiling  eyes 
turned  backward  to  them,  she  felt  her  whole 
being  thrilling  with  harmony  and  strength  and 
fortitude  for  that  dim,  crucial  hour  which  the 
coming  night  held  for  her. 

Mrs.  Harrison  received  her  with  open  arms,  but 
Gwen's  color  deepened  under  the  loving  question 
of  her  eyes  which  her  lips  refrained  from  fram 
ing.  The  young  Harrisons  pelted  her  with  in 
quiries  after  Deborah,  from  which  Gwen,  sur 
prised,  inferred  that  Mrs.  Harrison  had,  for 
once,  kept  her  own  counsel  as  to  the  peculiar 
situation  reigning  in  the  little  house  on  the 
heights.  She  longed  to  speak  lightly  of  George's 
advent  but  found  she  could  not,  and  she  was  furi 
ous  over  her  own  self-consciousness.  The  more 
she  essayed  to  find  an  opening  the  more  she  found 
herself  engulfed  within  the  shadow  of  her  vague 
appointment  with  him. 

Bob  Harrison,  walking  home  with  her  at  about 
ten  o'clock,  wondered  over  her  frank  forgetful- 
ness  of  his  presence,  and  when,  a  fine  rain  begin 
ning  to  fall,  she  said  hurriedly,  "  Let's  run, 
Bob,  my  shoes  are  so  thin,  and  I  have  an 


A  SONG  OF  SONGS  377 

appointment,"  he  thought  her  quite  irrespon 
sible. 

"  An  appointment — at  ten  o'clock  at  night !  " 
he  teased,  in  the  security  of  long  intimacy. 

She  laughed,  and  the  next  instant  he  regretted 
his  quizzing  when  she  said  simply,  with  a  sharp- 
drawn  breath,  "  With  my  husband." 

"  Pardon,"  he  begged  confusedly  for  he  knew 
not  what,  and  left  her  a  few  minutes  later,  un 
consciously  whistling  as  he  went  in  the  falling 
rain,  absurdly  jealous,  with  the  jealousy  of  his 
boyhood's  passion,  of  the  "  husband  "  from  whom 
he,  along  with  the  rest  of  the  world,  knew  she 
was  irrevocably  estranged. 

She  shivered  as  she  entered  the  dark  library. 
Quickly  turning  on  the  lights,  she  pulled  off  her 
gloves  and,  in  hat  and  fur  coat,  knelt  to  light  the 
logs  ready  for  the  match.  But  the  wood  refused 
to  ignite  and  she  was  still  kneeling,  coaxing  the 
blaze,  when  she  heard  his  leaping  step  on  the 
steps  without,  his  key  in  the  latch,  his  quiet 
entrance. 

Would  he  notice  the  lighted  room? 
"George!"  she  called  irrepressibly. 


378  FULFILLMENT 

He  came  in  at  a  stride,  in  the  act  of  draw 
ing  off  his  overcoat.  "  You  there?"  he  called 
vaguely,  and  saw  her  kneeling  on  the  hearth. 
He  came  over  to  her,  tall  and  easy  in  his  evening 
dress,  and  looked  down  at  her. 

"  I  can't  get  it  started,"  she  explained,  and 
he  was  down  beside  her,  taking  the  matches  from 
her  hand.  That  he  was  glad  as  she  for  the  mo 
ment  of  truce  she  knew  by  his  tense,  flushed 
silence,  and  she  sat  back  on  the  rug,  her  pulses 
throbbing,  watching  his  capable  manipulations. 

Presently  the  sticks  were  alight,  their  dry 
crackling  broke  the  breathless  silence  of  the  room, 
the  roaring  blaze  lit  their  intent  faces. 

"  It  will  catch  in  a  minute,"  he  said,  and  thrust 
the  logs  toward  the  draught. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet,  going  to  the  end  of  the 
room  to  remove  her  hat  and  coat.  When  she 
turned  about  he  was  coming  toward  her  with  out- 
held  arms,  his  eyes  aglow  with  a  long- forgotten 
light. 

"  Gwen,"  he  was  striving  to  say  clearly,  "  can't 
we  try  again,  can't " 

"  No,  no,"  she  cried  discordantly  and,  with 


A  SONG  OF  SONGS  379 

a  step  toward  him,  her  hand  covered  his  mouth. 
"  Not  you,  my  darling, — it's  I  who  must  say  it. 
Don't  you  see  it's  I  who  must  say  it?  " 

She  stepped  back,  releasing  him,  amazed,  in 
credulous,  gazing  at  her.  :<  Then  say  it,  love,  say 
it !  "  he  importuned,  coming  nearer. 

She  held  him  back,  her  hand  against  his  breast, 
and  he  saw  that  she  was  deathly  pale.  "  It's  so 
much  to  tell,"  she  said  in  hurried  accents.  "  I 
though  I  could  say  it  in  three  words,  but  I  can't. 
It's  all — it's  everything  in  my  life " 

"  Nonsense,"  he  chided,  his  hand  closing  re 
assuringly  over  hers  pressing  him  from  her. 
"  There's  nothing  more  to  tell.  Do  you  suppose 
that  there  aren't  things  in  my  life 

"  Nothing  that  has  to  do  with  me !  " 

"  No,  nothing  that  has  to  do  with  you." 

"  But  this  has  everything  to  do  with  you,"  she 
cried  in  low-voiced  excitement.  "  It's  all  my 
hideousness  to  you — it's  the  explanation — oh,  not 
the  excuse — of  all  my  unforgivable  hideousness 
to  you,  and  all " 

"  I've  forgotten  it  all — I  won't  hear  a  word — 
it  doesn't  exist — it  never  happened — it " 


38o  FULFILLMENT 

"  No,  no.  You  haven't  forgotten.  It's  alive 
and  ready  to  spring  out  at  us  out  of  every  corner, 
out  of  the  hell  of  the  past  into  whatever  heaven 
we — oh,  you  remembered  last  night  when  my 
slipper " 

"  Hush.  Don't  struggle  so  to  say  it — it  isn't 
worth  while — you'll  break  your  heart — and  mine 
— for  no  good."  His  heart  labored  with  her  dry 
sobbing. 

But  she  drew  her  hand  from  his  clasp. 
"  Listen,"  she  said  in  a  hoarse  undertone,  and 
she  became  suddenly  calm.  "  Let  me  say  it  at 
once  and  be  done.  When  I  married  you  I  loved 
him — Austin  Dane — the  man  you  saw  at  Ross — 
with  all  my  might,  and  with  all  my  strength,  and 
with  all  my  soul.  I  shall  never  love  any  man  as  I 
loved  him." 

The  harsh  truth  thus  ruthlessly  flashed  in  his 
face  quenched  the  glow  in  his  eyes,  left  his  whole 
visage  stiff  and  white  and  drawn. 

She  looked  at  him  desolately  and  put  her  hand 
to  her  throat  to  stay  its  painful  throbbing. 
"  That  was  the  wrong  I  did  you,"  her  white  lips 
made  avowal,  "  not  the  marrying  you  '  to  escape 


A  SONG  OF  SONGS    .  381 

poverty.'  If — if  he  hadn't  been  there — I,  being 
I — Deborah  Heath's  child — would  have  learned 
to  love  you,  oh,  very  quickly,  dear, — I,  being  I. 
Weren't  you  my  husband  ? — and  hadn't  old  Law- 
and-Order — Deb,  you  know, — taught  me  that  a 
good  wife  can  always  love  her  good  husband — if 
she  tries  hard  enough?"  She  smiled  miserably 
up  into  his  smileless  face,  and  closed  her  eyes  a 
moment  against  its  implacability.  Beautiful  and 
pleading,  she  stood  thus  before  him,  but  he  made 
no  move  to  help  her.  "  So,"  she  breathed,  open 
ing  her  eyes,  "  now  you  understand  why  I  could 
n't,  don't  you,  George  ?  " 

He  gazed  upon  her,  imperturbable. 

"  I  " — her  hand  again  sought  her  throat — "  I 
can't  explain  to  you  what  he  was  to  me.  He  was 
Austin  Dane,  the  playwright,  you  know, — the 
author  of  High  Lights." 

A  sardonic  light  touched  the  blankness  of  his 
expression. 

The  color  burned  up  dully  to  her  cheek  under 
his  wordless  sneer.  "  It  was  much  to  me,"  she 
murmured  with  quiet  dignity.  "  I  think  I  have 
always  lived  a  little  above  reality,  above  the  com- 


382  FULFILLMENT 

monplace,  and  even  the  commonplace,  if  I  have 
loved  it,  I  have  tipped  with  the  vision  of  it — the 
vision  that  beautifies,  like  moonlight.  But  I  wor 
shiped  intellect,  and  he  was  a  genius — acknowl 
edged  by  the  world.  He  was,  to  me,  a  god, — 
and  he  noticed  me.  He  took  me  with  him  up  to 
Olympus.  When  one  has  sat  in  the  light  of 
gods  one  is  blinded  to  lesser  lights."  She  spoke 
on  in  simple  monotone,  striving  only  for  the 
whole  truth. 

A  grating  sound  greeted  her  generality.  "  And 
why,"  he  asked  brutally,  "  why  didn't  you  marry 
your  god — if  gods  marry — loving  him  as  you've 
taken  such  pains  to  make  me  understand?  " 

"  Because  he  was  married  already,"  she  said 
very  low,  but  very  distinctly. 

His  hand  caught  blindly  at  a  light  chair  stand 
ing  near  him.  "  I  don't  think  I  quite  get  that,"  he 
said  roughly.  "  You  were  in  love  with  a  married 
man?" 

"  No.  I  didn't  know  he  was  married.  When 
he  told  me — that  night  out  at  Land's  End — I  ran 
away  from  him — I  ran  all  the  way  home.  But 
— before  that — before  I  knew, — I  had  accepted 


A  SONG  OF  SONGS  383 

his  love — I  had — confessed — my  love — for  him — 
I  had — kissed  him — calling  him — in  my  heart — 
my  husband." 

He  did  not  see  her  deathly  face  now,  his  own 
was  distorted  past  recognition,  the  veins  stood 
out  like  cords  on  his  brow,  his  eyes  bulged.  He 
lifted  high  the  slight  chair  in  his  hand  and 
brought  it  down  again  with  the  might  of  fury. 
"  God — damn  him !  "  burst  from  him  suffocatedly. 

"  Sh-s-s-sh !  "  The  piteous,  entreating  sound 
trailed  past  him.  "  It's  all  over  now — dead  and 
finished  long  ago."  His  bloodshot  eyes  took  in 
now  her  beseeching  pallor,  and  a  mist  came  be 
fore  them  while  his  hand  tightened  on  the  back  of 
the  little  chair. 

"  I  ran  away  from  him,"  her  low  voice  re 
peated  dully,  "  but  I  couldn't  run  away  from — 
my  love  for  him. — God  knows — if  it  hadn't  been 
for  Deb — old  Law-and-Order — I  might  never 
have  run  away  from  him — I — I  loved  him  so. 

And  today  I  might  have  been She  saved  me 

— from  myself — my  elemental  self." 

The  frail  chair  bent  under  his  grip.  He  had 
nothing  to  say  to  this. 


384  FULFILLMENT 

"  And  so,"  the  murmurous  voice  moved  bravely 
on,  "  when  I  married  you — '  to  escape  poverty/  as 
you  knew — when  I  married  you,  impersonally — 
for  you  were  nothing  to  me  but  a  means  to  an  end, 
neither  human  nor  inhuman,  only  something  to 
be  tolerated,  something  I  thought  I  could,  in 
time,  learn  to  tolerate, — I  loved  Austin  Dane. 
That  was  my  sin — to  both  of  us.  For  I  found 
out,  from  the  moment  I  married  you — from  the 
moment  I  stepped  into  the  car  with  you — that, 
because  I  loved  him  as  I  did,  I  could  not  endure 
you.  That,  because  I  loved  him,  I  must  hate  you. 
And  the  hate  grew  in  intensity  from  the  moment 
of  our  leaving  the  house  down  through  my  read 
ing  of  his  letter — the  letter  you  handed  me  that 
night  at  Del  Monte, — you  remember,  don't  you? 
No  ?  ah,  well, — till  it  reached  its  climax  that  day 
at  Chartres, — when  I  realized  that  I  was — that  I 
was  to  be  the  mother  of  your  child — not  his." 
She  was  looking  up  at  him  with  burning  stead 
fastness,  but  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  to 
hide  out  the  sight  of  his  anguish. 

"  Oh,"  she  moaned,  looking  up  finally,  "  bear  it 
a  moment  longer,  dear,  and  then Listen.  I 


A  SONG  OF  SONGS  385 

went  utterly  mad  then — criminally  mad, — I  told 
myself  I  had  desecrated  my  love — myself — till 
Deb  set  me  straight  again  that  day  we  came  back. 
She — she  took  my  child  out  of  my  mind  and  put 
her  into  my  soul.  Deb  did  that  for  me.  And  she 
— my  baby — was  all  mine — all  mine,  till  you  came 
in,  claiming  her, — and  for  one  eternally  irrevo 
cable  minute  I  went  mad  again — and  I  smote 
you  .  .  .  George !  George ! " 

But  he  had  neither  spoken  nor  stirred,  given 
no  sign  to  call  forth  her  wild  prayer. 

She  drew  a  long,  hard  breath,  recovering  her 
self,  "  And  you  smote  back.  If  you  had  struck 
the  vile  words  down  my  throat — if  you  had  an 
swered  me  with  physical  violence,  as  a  man  of 
lower  instincts  would  have  been  justified  in  doing 
— it  would  all  have  been  ended,  we  would  not 
have  journeyed  on  to  deeper  hell — but  neither 
would  we  have  been  standing  here  together  to 
night.  But  that  is  the  secret — that  is  why  we  did 
not  separate  then  and  there — or  afterward — for 
ever.  Because  you  were  you — George  Leland — 
Mary  Bates's  son.  The  lash  of  your  supreme  con 
tempt  for  me  was  as  the  knout  to  my  soul — it 


386  FULFILLMENT 

made  me  myself  again — it  made  me  Gwen  Heath 
again — Deborah  Heath's  child  with  shame 
knouted  into  her  soul.  You  could  not  know  that, 
by  merely  saying,  '  You  are  unworthy ! ' — you 
made  me — worthy —  again.  You  could  not  know 
that  in  throwing  me  down  to  the  lowest  depths  in 
your  regard,  you  drew  me  up.  For  I  refused  to 
grovel  there,  George.  On  the  instant  I  found 
myself,  and  began  the  struggle  upward,  saying 
always  to  myself,  '  I  will  be  worthy  of  my  child.' 
And  those  words  were  my  spurs.  For  I  said  to 
myself,  '  If  I  am  worthy  of  my  child,  I  shall  be 
worthy  of  anything — and  of  anybody.'  That  is 
what  motherhood  came  to  mean  to  me, — the  great 
career,  the  crux,  the  apogee,  of  my  womanhood !  " 

Now  she  was  indeed  winged,  now  she  was  no 
longer  humble  before  him,  now  she  raised  her 
proud  head  in  victory  before  him.  But  the  bit 
terness  she  had  doled  out  to  him  without  stint, 
still  corroded,  and  the  eyes  meeting  hers  were 
dark  with  smoldering  pain. 

She  came  a  step  nearer.  "  When  I  told  my 
self  I  would  be  worthy  of — anybody,"  she  said, 
so  low  the  sound  was  almost  a  whisper,  "  I  didn't 


A  SONG  OF  SONGS  387 

mean  you, — that  is,  I  didn't  know  I  meant  you. 
But  now  I  know  that  was  my  one  thought.  I 
had  put  you  on  the  pedestal  from  which  you  had 
flung  me.  We  do  that  to  our  judges — at  least,  I 
do.  I  must  have  something — someone — to  wor 
ship  or  beatify — someone — something — to  live  or 
die  for,"  her  teeth  were  set  in  the  intensity  of  her 
passion.  "  At  first  I  thought  it  was  my  child, — 
I  believe  it  was  my  child, — but  now  I  know  too 
that  I  could  not  live  for  my  child  apart  from 
thought  of  my  child's  father.  She,  with  her 
little  dream  hands,  gently,  firmly,  turned  my  eyes 
from — that  other — to  him  who  had  given  her  to 
life — and  to  me.  And — I  found  my  thoughts 
dwelling  upon  you  with  an  undefined  joy — I 
found  it  sweet  to  dwell  upon  you — my  baby's 
father."  Her  lifted  face  was  wholly  adoring  as 
was  her  groping  voice.  "  But,"  her  eyes  grew 
visionary,  "  I  know  too,  that,  had  you  proven 
base,  low,  unlovable,  I  would  have  fought  with 
you,  unto  the  last  ditch,  to  draw  you  up  to  man 
hood, — for  I  had  lost  count  of  myself, — for  my 
child's  sake !  And  I  know,  too,  that  the  sweetest 
thing  that  could  have  happened  to  me  then  would 


388  FULFILLMENT 

have  been  for  you  to  lose  all  your  worldly  goods 
so  that  I  could  have  come  to  you — to  prove  my 
wifehood.  For  all  through  those  months  when 
you  kept  yourself  as  far  from  sight  of  me  as  you 
could,  I  was  marrying  you,  George,  marrying  you 
in  indissoluble  loyalty  and — and  yearning.  With 
one  sweep  of  triumph,  motherhood  had  swept  the 
past  out  of  my  life  as  completely,  as  naturally  as 
I  swept  all  Austin  Dane's  letters  unopened  into 
the  fire.  I  found  myself  living  for  one  crowning 
moment,  the  moment  when  I  could  lay  my  baby  in 
your  arms  and  beg  you  to  say  with  me,  '  Ours,' 
— and  so  wipe  out  the  hate  from  your  heart — 
and  the  stain  from  my  soul." 

She  bent  her  head  to  hide  her  falling  tears,  and 
he  made  an  indistinct  sound  to  stop  her,  but  she 
shook  back  her  tears  with  a  swift  motion, 
whispering  tremulously,  "  Do  you  believe  me, 
George, — do  you  believe  that  I  was  no  longer — 
vile?" 

"  Hush.  Don't.  For  God's  sake,  don't  say  any 
more !  " 

"  Do  you  see  now  why  I  have  had  to  torture 
you  with  this  tearing  up  of  my  life  by  the  roots 


A  SONG  OF  SONGS  389 

— why  it  was  necessary  to  make  you  fully  under 
stand — before  you  could  fully  forgive, — that  you 
had  to  know  that  it  was  only  a  hideous  zigzag  I 
had  taken  away  from  my  natural  trail,  and  that  I 
had  come  back — that  you  had  brought  me  back — 
to  Gwen  Heath's  trail — with  your  contempt — that 
day  in  Deb's  room?  " 

"  Oh,  Gwen,  Gwen,"  he  groaned,  "  the  torture 
of  those  months !  Why  didn't  you  say  something 
to  undo  the " 

"  Because,  dear,"  she  interrupted  eagerly,  un 
able  to  endure  his  voicing  of  her  ignominy,  "  I 
was  proud — and  weak — and  I  was  afraid  of  you. 
I  was  waiting — waiting  for  the  oblation.  With 
her,  I  could  face  the  hatred  and  disgust  I  had 
wrought  in  you, — with  her,  I  could  plead  for  an 
other  trial.  No,  no,  please,  please,  listen.  That 
morning  when  I  lost  consciousness,  it  was  the 
sight  of  you,  the  knowledge  that  my  beautiful, 
dread  moment  had  come,  which  undid  me.  I  was 
overwrought, — overwrought  from  too  much 
thinking  of  you.  And  you — and  Deb,  too, 
— thought  it  was  from  revolt  at  your  ap 
proach  ! " 


390  FULFILLMENT 

"  How  could  anyone  think  otherwise  ?  "  he 
questioned  hoarsely. 

"  But  you  realized  your  mistake  that  day  at 
Ross,  didn't  you?"  she  begged  with  brilliantly 
feverish  eyes.  "  No  ?  Yes,  you  must  have ! 
That  day  at  Ross  when  I  knew  that  there  were 
just  you — and  she — in  all  the  wide  world  for  me. 
Ah,  well."  She  turned  her  eyes  from  the  doubt 
in  his  faint  smile.  "  Perhaps,"  she  drew  a  hard, 
unsteady  breath,  "  perhaps  it  would  have  required 
superhuman  imagination  for  you  to  have  felt  that 
I  had  so  changed  that  I  had  only  one  passionate 
wish  that  day:  that,  by  some  magical  stroke  of 
fate,  you  would  tell  me  that  your  worldly  circum 
stances  were  so  changed  that  I  could  say  to  you, 
freely,  without  material  consciousness,  without 
self-consciousness, — because  you,  too,  seemed  to 
have  forgotten  the  past  in  the  thought  of  the 
treasure  that  bound  us — that  I  could  say  to  you, 
'  Come,  then,  you  and  I — and  our  darling, — and 
let  us,  together,  try  to  find  that  wonderful  road, 
the  common  road,  the  only  road  that  leads  to 
human  happiness.' ' 

Her  voice  had  sunk  to  a  mere  wisp  of  sound. 


A  SONG  OF  SONGS  391 

Stunned  by  her  abandon,  blinded  by  the  unbe 
lievable  revelation,  he  could  only  stand  speechless, 
motionless,  doubting  the  evidence  of  his  starved 
senses,  waiting  for  her  to  turn  her  bewildering 
eyes  again  upon  him.  And  she  did  presently, 
pale,  but  unashamed.  "  But  I  couldn't  at  once — 
I  felt  so — so  foolishly  shy — and  then  you  went  so 
quickly.  But  I  told  myself  I  would  tell  you  the 
next  time George,  do  you  think  it  was  pun 
ishment  for " 

He  strode  into  her  agony,  seizing  her  by  the 
wrists.  "  That's  enough  now,"  he  commanded 
fiercely. 

"  No,  let  me  finish.  When  you  threw  me 
down " 

"  I — threw  you  down !  " 

"  I  fell  when  you  threw  me  off — there  in  the 
woods.  I  didn't  want  to  get  up  again — what 
was  the  use  when  you  could  think  that  of  me, 
even  in  your  crazed  state — me  who  had  just  told 
that  unexpected,  blighting  ghost  of  the  dead  past 
all  that  you  were  to  me — all  he  had  ceased  to  be 
to  me!  I  wanted  to  die  there  since  you  could 
think  that  horror  of  me.  I  even  forgot  her — 


392  FULFILLMENT 

my  darling — my  treasure.  No,  no,  let  me  finish 

— I'm  not  crying.  Look And  afterward — 

when  she  was  gone — and  you  were  gone — and  I 
— I  felt  like  a  derelict.  George — it  was  terrible." 

So  was  her  strangled  whisper  to  him,  her  wide, 
strained  eyes.  "  Stop  talking  now,  Gwen,"  he 
whispered  back  hoarsely,  still  holding  her  by  the 
wrists.  "  Let  me " 

"  But  down  there  in  Los  Angeles,"  a  light 
flashed  her  face  into  strange  radiance,  "  you  be 
lieved  me — now  I  know — not  because  I  was  I,  but 
because  you  were  you.  And  you  were  you  be 
cause  you  were  Mary  Bates's  son — as  I  was  what 
you  knew  I  could  not  be,  because,  behind  me, 
stretched  a  line  of  good  mothers,  and  close  to  me 
stood  my  other,  more  than  mother,  my  Deb,  to 
whom  I  was  accountable.  For  mothers  can  give 

us  beasts  or  angels  for  thoughts Oh,  the 

mothers,  George!  The  power  and  responsibility 
of  mothers !  " 

"  Hush,"  he  begged  again,  his  hands  straining 
at  her  wrists,  his  eyes  misty  with  her  rapture. 

Her  transfigured  eyes  came  back  to  dwell  in 
brooding  tenderness  upon  his  face  which  slowly 


A  SONG  OF  SONGS  393 

flushed  in  wonder  under  them.  "  Down  there  in 
Los  Angeles — at  the  train — do  you  know  how  I 
felt? — as  though  you  and  I  were  alone  in  the 
world,  set  apart  from  all  the  rest,  all  the  rest 
mere  shadows.  And  I  had  a  vision — and  I  knew 
then  why  marriage  was — why  men  and  women 
went,  not  singly,  but  in  couples, — not  only  for 
the  children, — but  more,  a  thousandfold  more, 
each  for  the  other.  Had  I  not  lost  my  child? 
Must  we  not,  in  the  end,  somehow,  some  day, 
lose  our  children  ?  Do  you  think  it  was  only  for 
the  sake  of  your  children  Mary  Bates  dreamed 
The  Girl  Who  Was  Waiting  for  you,  you — her 
loved  one  ?  Her  love  for  you  was  farther-seeing 
than  that, — she,  too,  had  had  the  vision,  she,  too, 
saw  in  marriage  the  tender,  protecting  provision 
Law  has  made  against  the  vandals,  time  and 

change,  down  the  long,  consecrating  years . 

Couples — each  for  the  other's  need — down  the 
long,  unifying  years." 

She  held  his  eyes  in  a  look,  long,  and  strange, 
and  beautiful.  Her  voice  slipped  on  dreamily, 
almost  without  consciousness,  for  he  was  to  her 
now  as  her  very  self.  "  I  came  home  in  a  peace 


394  FULFILLMENT 

that  passeth  understanding — for  it  was  the  peace 
of  my  very  soul.  But  when  your  letters  came — I 
— had  no  more  peace  " — her  head  drooped  for  all 
her  bravery. 

"  Go  on — for  heaven's  sake,  go  on  now, 
Gwen,"  he  urged  crazily,  his  fingers  utterly  reck 
less  of  the  tender  flesh  under  them. 

"  Deb  saw/'  she  whispered,  turning  her  head 
from  him  as  best  she  could.  "  She  said — in  her 
note — she  would  send  me — my  Uncle  from 
Brazil." 

"Your  Uncle  from  Brazil?" 

She  laughed  brokenly.  "  Just  happiness — just 
my  silly  girl-way  of  speaking  of  some  unattain 
able  happiness.  I  used  to  think  it  was  money. 
But — Deb  knew — it  was — you." 

He  could  scarcely  hear  her,  and  for  a  moment 
he  stood  unmoved,  then,  slowly,  he  let  go  her 
wrists,  turning  from  her,  and  covering  his  face 
with  his  hands.  She  stood  with  drooped  head, 
terror-stricken,  sick  at  heart.  Finally  his  words 
came,  with  difficulty,  one  at  a  time. 

"  It  might — have  been — anyone — for  all  the 
difference  it  would  have  made — in  the  end." 


A  SONG  OF  SONGS  395 

She  raised  her  head,  listening,  catching  her 
breath.  "  It  might  have  been — then — but  it  isn't 
-—it's  you.  I  chose  you.  And  after  all,  who  shall 
say  there  is  not  the  root  of  love  in  choice?  And 

afterwards — after  the  promise  of Ah, 

George,  I  have  told  you ! " 

He  trembled  under  the  passion  of  her  reiterated 
avowal,  and  still,  with  head  averted,  he  spoke 
heavily,  as  if  in  torture.  "  But — you  said — that 
other — you  said  just  now  you  could  never  love 
any  other  man — as  you  loved  him " 

Her  smile  grew  into  laughing  tenderness. 
"Jealous?"  she  murmured,  drawing  nearer. 
"  Jealous,  love  ? — of  a  memory,  buried,  and  put 
away  forever  ?  "  She  was  close  to  him,  she  put  up 
her  hands,  turning  his  face  to  hers.  "  Still  jeal 
ous,  dearest,  after  all  I  have  said  ?  Ah,  George, 
he  was  the  love  of  my  girlhood's  imagination — 
than  which  there  is  nothing  lovelier, — because  it 
is  a  dream,  but  you  are  the  love  of  all  my  woman 
hood — than  which  there  is  nothing  holier,  because 
it  is  real. — Don't  you  want  it,  dear?  Don't  you 
want  to  try  to  love  me  again  as " 

"  Love  you  again !    Have  I  ever  stopped ' ' 


396  FULFILLMENT 

He  took  her  now,  in  the  might  of  his  love. — And 
they  had  done  with  speaking,  for  love  has  other 
eloquences 

He  drew  her  down  with  him  into  her  father's 
old  leather-covered  arm-chair,  and  the  noble  old, 
firelit,  memory-lit  room  made  sanctuary  for 
them. 

And  so  they  were  married. 

And  many  unseen  guests  were  there,  at  this, 
their  wedding.  Fathers  and  mothers  stretching 
far  back,  a  shadowy  line,  down  to  these  two, — 
fathers  and  mothers,  those  responsible  for  these 
two.  And  not  the  least  among  them,  hovering 
very  near,  was  Mary  Bates,  she  who  had  kept 
him  for  her,  and  that  other,  Deborah  Heath, 
sometimes  called  old  Law-and-Order,  she  who 
had  kept  them  together. 

Nor  was  there  wanting  music.  Silvery,  and 
soft,  and  full,  it  fell  upon  the  ear,  like  a  voice, — 
the  music  of  the  rain, — singing  of  gifts,  lowly 
gifts,  human  gifts,  abiding  gifts.  Down  to  the 
pavements  it  fell,  in  incessant,  echoing  melody; 
in  the  near  gardens  it  fell,  warm,  and  fruitful, 
and  fragrant;  far  and  wide  it  fell,  down  to  old 


A  SONG  OF  SONGS  397 

mother-earth — hungry  old  mother  of  all.  In  love 
and  benediction  it  fell,  fructifying  to  fulfill 
ment. 

Across  her  soul  she  felt  the  flutter  of  flown 
wings.   .    .    . 


THE   END 


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Tells  how  "Martha"  came  to  choose  "Sam  Slosson"  for 
her  husband,  how  she  spent  the  fund  for  her  wedding 
outfit,  solved  the  "mother-in-law"  problem,  etc.  $1.00 
net. 

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BY     INEZ      HAYNES     GILLMORE 

THE  OLLIVANT  ORPHANS 

With  frontispiece  by  FLAGG.    $1.35  net. 
The  co-operative  homemaking  of  three  sisters  and  their 
three  brothers,  who  all  start  "down  and  out." 

"Has  returned  to  the  style  of  her  very  popular  'Phoebe  and 
Ernest'  stories.  .  .  .  Very  attractive  young  people.  .  .  . 
Related  with  a  good  deal  of  fun  and  understanding  and  charm. 
.  .  .  We  like  them  every  one." — Neva  York  Times  Book  Re 
view. 

ANGEL  ISLAND 

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This  strange,  picturesque  romance,  with  its  deep  un 
derlying  significance,  won  praise  from  such  high  authori 
ties  as  The  Bookman,  The  Evening  Post,  The  Times  Re 
view  and  The  Boston  Transcript. 

PHOEBE  AND  ERNEST 

With  30  illustrations  by  R.  F.  SCHABELITZ.  $1.35  net. 

Parents  will  recognize  themselves  in  the  story,  and 
laugh  understandingly  with,  and  sometimes  at,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Martin  and  their  children,  Phoebe  and  Ernest. 

"We  must  go  back  to  Louisa  Olcott  for  their  equals." — Boston 
Advertiser. 

PHOEBE,  ERNEST  AND  CUPID 

Illustrated  by  R.  F.  SCHABELITZ.    $1.35  net. 

In  this  sequel  to  the  popular  "Phoebe  and  Ernest," 
each  of  these  delightful  young  folk  goes  to  the  altar. 

"To  all  jaded  readers  of  problem  novels,  to  all  weary  way 
farers  on  the  rocky  literary  road  of  social  pessimism  and  domes 
tic  woe,  we  recommend  'Phoebe,  Ernest  and  Cupid'  with  all  our 
hearts:  it  is  not  only  cheerful,  it's  true." — N.  Y.  Times  Review. 

JANEY 

Illustrated  by  ADA  C.  WILLIAMSON.    $1.25  net. 
Being  the  record  of  a  short  interval  in  the  journey 

thru  life  and  the  struggle  with  society  of  a  little  girl  of 

nine. 

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JEAN-CHRISTOPHE 

By  ROMAIN  ROLLAND 

Translated  from  the  French  by  GILBERT  CAN  NAN.  In 
three  volumes,  each  $1.50  net 

This  great  trilogy,  the  life  story  of  a  musician,  at  first 
the  sensation  of  musical  circles  in  Paris,  has  come  to  be  one 
of  the  most  discussed  books  among  literary  circles  in  France, 
England  and  America. 

Each  volume  of  the  American  edition  has  its  own  indi 
vidual  interest,  can  be  understood  without  the  other,  and 
comes  to  a  definite  conclusion. 

The  three  volumes  with  the  titles  of  the  French  volumes 
included  are: 

JEAN-CHRISTOPHE 

DAWN — MORNING — YOUTH — REVOLT 

JEAN-CHRISTOPHE  IN  PARIS 

THE  MARKET  PLACE — ANTOINETTE — THE  HOUSE 

JEAN-CHRISTOPHE:  JOURNEY'S  END 

LOVE    AND    FRIENDSHIP — THE    BURNING    BUSH — THE    NEW 

DAWN 

Some  Noteworthy  Comments 

"  'Hats  off,  gentlemen — a  genius.'  .  One  may  mention  'Jean-Chris- 
tophe'  in  the  same  breath  with  Balzac's  'Lost  Illusions';  it  is  as  big 
as  that.  .  It  is  moderate  praise  to  call  it  with  Edmund  Gosse  'the 
noblest  work  of  faction  of  the  twentieth  century.'  .  A  book  as 
big,  as  elemental,  as  original  as  though  the  art  of  fiction  began  to 
day.  .  We  have  nothing  comparable  in  English  literature.  .  " — 
Springfield  Republican. 

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tip  the  great,  changing  sea  of  modern  life,  there  is  hardly  a  single 
book  more  illustrative,  more  informing  and  more  inspiring." — Current 
Opinion, 

"Must  rank  as  one  of  the  very  few  important  works  of  fiction  of  the 
last  decade.  A  vital  compelling  work.  We  who  love  it  feel  that  it 
will  live." — Independent. 

"The  most  momentous  novel  that  has  come  to  us  from  France,  or 
from  any  other  European  country,  in  a  decade." — Boston  Transcript. 

A  32-page  booklet  about  Romain  Rolland  and  Jean-Chris- 
tophe,  with  portraits  and  complete  reviews,  on  request. 

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TWO  BOOKS  BY  CONSTANCE  D'ARCY  MACKAY 


COSTUMES  AND  SCENERY  FOR  AMATEURS 

A  Practical  Working  Handbook  with  over  70  illustrations  and 
full  index.  258  pp.  i2mo.  $1.75  net. 

A  book  that  has  long  been  needed.  It  concludes  chap 
ters  on  Amateurs  and  the  New  Stage  Art,  Costumes,  and 
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including  interiors,  exteriors,  and  a  scheme  for  a  Greek 
Theatre,  all  drawn  to  scale.  Throughout  the  book  color 
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view,  and  ingenious  ways  are  given  to  adapt  the  same 
costumes  or  scenes  to  several  different  uses. 

HOW  TO  PRODUCE  CHILDREN'S  PLAYS 

The  author  is  a  recognized  authority  on  the  production 
of  plays  and  pageants  in  the  public  schools,  and  combines 
enthusiastic  sjnnpathy  with  sound,  practical  instructions. 
She  tells  both  how  to  inspire  and  care  for  the  young  actor, 
how  to  make  costumes,  properties,  scenery,  where  to  find 
designs  for  them,  what  music  to  use,  etc.,  etc.  She  pre 
faces  it  all  with  an  interesting  historical  sketch  of  the 
plays-for-children  movement,  includes  elaborate  detailed 
analyses  of  performances  of  Browning's  Pied  Piper  and 
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grades  and  occasions.  $1.20  net. 

New  York  Times  Review:  "It  will  be  useful  .  .  .  practical 
advice." 

Magazine  of  General  Federation  of  Women's  Clubs:  "There 
seems  to  be  nothing  she  has  forgotten  to  mention.  Every  club 
program  chairman  should  have  it." 


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THE  NEW  POETRY 


CHICAGO  POEMS 

By  CARL  SANDBURG.    $1.25  net. 

In  his  ability  to  concentrate  a  whole  story  or  picture  or 
character  within  the  compass  of  a  few  lines,  Mr.  Sand 
burg's  work  compares  favorably  with  the  best  achieve 
ments  of  the  recent  successful  American  poets.  It  is, 
however,  distinguished  by  its  trenchant  note  of  social 
criticism  and  by  its  vision  of  a  better  social  order. 

NORTH  OF  BOSTON 

By  ROBERT  FROST.     6th  printing,  $1.25  net. 

"The  first  poet  for  half  a  century  to  express  New  England 
life  completely  with  a  fresh,  original  and  appealing  way  of  his 
own." — Boston  Transcript. 

"An  authentic  original  voice  in  literature." — Atlantic 
Monthly. 

A  BOY'S  WILL 

By  ROBERT  FROST.     2nd  printing,  75  cents  net. 
Mr.  Frost's  first  volume  of  poetry. 
"We  have  read  every  line  with  that  amazement  and  delight 

•which   are   too   seldom   evoked  by  books   of   modern   verse." — 

The  Academy  (London}. 

THE  LISTENERS 

By  WALTER  DE  LA  MARE.    $1.20  net. 

Mr.  De  la  Mare  expresses  with  undeniable  beauty  of 
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" and   Other  Poets" 

By  Louis  UNTERMEYER.     $1.25  net. 

Mirth  and  thought-provoking  parodies,  by  the  author 
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